


Gunnin' For Cupid

by silverthread



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, hanzo is still slated to be the heir to the shimada clan, jesse and ashe are running deadlock, most likely references to weapons and stuff, probably drug use given the nature of both groups, young mchanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverthread/pseuds/silverthread
Summary: "I got my twelve-gauge primed upWith a double-ought buck load;If Cupid wants to keep his hair,He won't come up MY road.If that varmint comes around this year,I'm gonna lay him low;He won't get no chance to nockAn arrow in his bow."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for checking this story out! I've had the idea of a pre-Overwatch au involving Deadlock and the Shimadas in my head for a while now, and I finally decided to turn it into a fic! So far I'm having a lot of fun writing everyone's pre-Overwatch personalities. I would like to extend a special thank you to my wonderful beta, Deos. They've been a huge help in encouraging me to get this chapter done!
> 
> If you wanna yell with me about fandom stuff or offer constructive criticism, check me out at my tumblr blog, silverthread-writes
> 
> Note: age-wise, I'm putting Jesse at 23, Hanzo at 24, Genji at 21, and Ashe at 25. Just in case you're like me and use age to kind of determine how you picture characters. Ok I'm done, thanks for reading!

To call it a dining room would be an understatement. Even "conference room" doesn't seem to do it justice. Hanzo had always thought of it more like an audience chamber, the room the Shimada family hosts events in when they really want to impress someone but don't want to look like they're trying too hard. It's at the center of the Shimada estate, one of the largest single rooms in the entire complex. They use this conference room when visiting politicians or heads of other families come to stay with them for whatever reason and bring their assistants, attendants, and security details along. The room has long banquet tables that can be used for sit-down dinners, or removed for standing-room only galas. At the head of the room is a raised dais with a smaller table, where the immediate Shimada family and whatever important dignitary is visiting them sit. Tonight they've set out one banquet table, which is loaded to capacity by a gaggle of loud, rip-roaring American gangsters who are filling the hall with hoots and hollers and laughter.

Hanzo looks to his left. The white-haired woman who goes by Ashe is sitting between his parents, laughing with them over some story she's been telling them for the past few minutes. Her enormous omnic servant sits a respectful distance behind them, its head twitching slightly as it maintains a constant vigilance on each entry to the hall. As far as Hanzo can tell, Ashe is the de facto leader of the Deadlock gang. He'd had a few holo-conferences with her before their negotiations got serious enough to be taken up to his parents. In each meeting it became increasingly obvious that she is witty, charismatic, and above all, hungry to expand her empire. Hungry enough to approach one of the most powerful crime syndicates halfway across the world to ask them for help. 

It's obvious that Ashe is the drive behind Deadlock, the secret ingredient that makes them more than a group of thugs in cowboy hats and bandannas. But she's not the muscle that executes the group's will, or the diplomat that maintains alliances. Those roles, oddly enough, converge on the same man.

"Refill your drink, sugar?" 

Hanzo turns to his right. The man sitting beside him is holding a bottle of sake over his cup. Hanzo gives a polite smile, and tilts his head. "Yes, thank you." 

As Jesse McCree fills his glass, Hanzo regards him from the corner of his eye. Admittedly, the man's ridiculous costume and overly-friendly manner of speaking had thrown him off guard during their first video conference. He had expected Ashe's partner to be the same as her- ruthless, cold, and confident. While Jesse certainly was the latter, he came across as much warmer than his fellow leader. Whenever they met he was friendly and polite, with a disarming smile as wide as a desert road and a way of peppering in compliments that were enough to make Hanzo blush. While Ashe was always all business on their holo-conferences, McCree never failed to end their conferences with questions about landmarks in Hanamura, or how to pronounce a Japanese character. 

For the first few weeks, Hanzo had assumed that McCree only ran the diplomatic side of Deadlock. Hanzo, who considers himself especially adept at keeping his work and his personal life separate, had found himself looking forward to their conferences. But then the small envoy that the Shimadas had sent to New Mexico came back, and reported on Deadlock's resident sharpshooter. Not only was Jesse McCree charismatic and disarming, he was apparently the deadliest man in the West with a six-shooter. 

Hanzo would have been lying to himself if he had denied the smallest bit of excitement when the plans for Ashe and McCree's trip to Hanamura had been finalized. The Shimadas weren't sure if Deadlock had any real benefit to offer them, but he'd been excited to meet the fascinating cowboy he'd only seen on a holo-screen. 

"How'm I doin'?" Comes a deep voice from his right side. Hanzo raises an eyebrow in the cowboy's direction. He's met with an almost-sheepish grin. McCree looks different without his hat, his brown hair is slicked back and curls around his ears. 

"You will have to be a little more specific." Hanzo turns more towards McCree. He hadn't been listening to what Ashe and his parents were discussing, anyways. 

McCree looks down at the table, gesturing to the setting in front of him. "Y'know, all of this. My table manners'n all. I didn't wanna be impolite, so I've been tryin' to practice my Japanese etiquette. But reading about it and actually performing it are two different matters entirely." 

Hanzo's mouth quirks up in a confused smile. "You're worried about your table manners? We may be a traditional family, but there's no need to stand on ceremony." 

McCree laughs, and it sounds even warmer in person than it had over the holo-screen. Hanzo finds himself still smiling as the cowboy continues. "I know, but still. Manners are so different, I wouldn't wanna do something to offend anyone. Ashe thought it was a ridiculous thing to be worried about, but my mama didn’t raise a pig." 

Hanzo chuckles. McCree's concern is oddly endearing, if misplaced. The Shimadas wouldn't break a deal over something as low-stakes as table manners. A break in decorum would probably put Deadlock even higher in Genji's estimation, and all Hanzo would do is grumble about it behind Deadlock's backs. But he can respect not wanting to be rude to one's host, and he admires McCree’s effort. 

"Very well. The most important rules to know are the ones involving chopsticks." Hanzo picks his own up, and motions for Jesse to do the same. "You shouldn't point them at people while you're talking to them, or point to dishes you want to try. There's the possibility of sauce or rice flying off the ends if you use them to gesticulate. And don't use them to pass food, at funerals we pass cremated bones between chopsticks. As you can imagine, it's not a very appetizing thing to be reminded of. " 

McCree nods, his brows slightly knitted and eyes fixed on Hanzo. Around now is when Hanzo is used to being whined at by Genji, who never had any use for table manners. But McCree seems to take it seriously. Maybe he had studied before arriving in Hanamura. 

"Do you know the difference between sushi, sashimi, and nigiri?" 

McCree purses his lips, his brown eyes sliding to the side as he thinks. He looks slightly uncertain."Well, sushi is easy, that's wrapped in rice and seaweed. And... Sashimi is the slices of fish, with rice on the side. And nigiri is the slices of fish, served on top of rice?" 

The man's face is earnest when he looks back to Hanzo. It's obvious that the hopes he's right, and when Hanzo laughs quietly he looks a little crestfallen. "Close, but you have them flipped. Sashimi is slices of fish, and is not served with rice. Nigiri is the fish served on top of pressed rice." 

McCree snaps his fingers. "Aw, damnit. Well, at least I kinda got it right." 

"You know more than I would have expected you to," Hanzo agrees after taking a sip from his cup. "And you know to refill others' glasses before your own. That's important." 

McCree throws him a sidelong glance, a roguish smile on his face. “If there’s one thing you’ll come to know about me, Mr. Shimada, it’s that I aim to please.” McCree turns his smile down at his plate, and Hanzo finds himself echoing it. He turns to his own setting, and eats a few pieces of the roll in the center of the table. 

"Your brother, he don't seem to share your enthusiasm for etiquette." 

Hanzo looks over the rest of the dining hall. There's a significant bulge in the center of the long table, where most of the Deadlock crew seems to be congregating. Genji's gesticulating his way through some wild and likely half-fabricated story. A man with an abundance of facial piercings sits to his right, and a woman with close-cropped hair to his left. Both seem to hang off of every word. Hanzo wouldn't be surprised if Genji spends most of the next few weeks in the Deadlock guest quarters. 

"He never has," Hanzo says, turning back to McCree. "And your arrival has got him excited. He's been looking forward to this for weeks- I'm afraid he finds being a member of one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world dreadfully boring. He's challenged himself to sleep with every member of your crew he possibly can before you all leave." 

There's a moment of pause, and then McCree guffaws loud enough to draw the attention of Ashe and the Shimada parents. He puts a hand to his mouth, choking out an apology. Hanzo feels a swell of pride. He's good at working people, he was raised to be. But making people laugh like that, full-bodied and genuine, is usually Genji's strong suit. Though Genji's single-handedly entertaining over twenty people, Hanzo will take getting one handsome cowboy to laugh. 

"That probably won't be too much of a challenge. Everyone seems pretty taken with him." Jesse concedes, reaching for his glass. He'd had a respectful cup of sake at the beginning of the meal, but had since shifted to whiskey and water. Hanzo's eyes are drawn to the man's throat, the way his Adam's apple bobs as he drinks. He watches for a moment, a heartbeat, but when his eyes flick back to McCree's face, the man's chocolate brown eyes are fixed on his. As quick as anything, one of his eyelashes bats down in a wink. Even given the cowboy’s flirtatious nature, the wink comes as a surprise. Hanzo laughs through his nose, and rolls his eyes in mock exasperation before turning his eyes back to his plate. 

He tries to come up with something flirty or sarcastic to say back. Genji would have come up with something in a second, but personal interactions outside of business were never his strong suit. Thankfully, his mother provides a distraction. "Hanzo?" 

"Yes, mother?" He responds, thanking the stars for an excuse to turn away from McCree and gather his thoughts.

"Ashe was just asking us about our distribution network in Mexico. I believe you've had the most contact with our partners there, can you refresh us?" 

Hanzo smiles. His parents know very well what South American gangs they have under their thumbs. But pretending to be too busy with other duties to remember the names of their contacts is part of their image as aloof, uncaring aristocrats. "Of course. We supply weapons and ammunition to each of the four largest crime families in Mexico- the Aquinos, the Barros, the Lobos, and the Silvas. We have an especially close relationship to the Lobo family, as my second cousin Kiyoko is married to Manolo Lobo's daughter, Estrella. We supply them with martial arts and weapons trainers for their forces, and aid when they need it. This partnership has allowed them to expand their operations in recent years, and has been profitable for us."

Ashe raises a sculpted eyebrow. She's impressed, though she's trying not to show it. From his right, Hanzo hears a low whistle. When he turns, McCree is shaking his head and smiling. 

"What?" Hanzo asks, unable to resist. Ashe has picked up conversation again with his parents, and Hanzo finds that he really doesn't mind. 

"I got a history with the Lobos, is all. Estrella almost killed me a few years back, 's a matter of fact." 

Hanzo stifles a chuckle. "I'm sure she was well within her rights to do so." 

"She was under the ridiculous impression that I broke her younger brother's heart. It was a complete misunderstanding, of course." 

Hanzo laughs quietly, not at all surprised to hear that McCree is a heartbreaker. "Of course. I can only hope that, if this deal between my family and Deadlock goes through, she won't be too mad at us for consorting with the likes of you." 

McCree chuckles into his whiskey, but doesn't say anything more. Hanzo finds himself wondering about the specifics of whatever incident had happened between the cowboy and the Lobos. He's only known McCree for a few months, but he can easily see how the man would be a libertine. He has the air of a scoundrel, a man who doesn't have to steal your heart because you'd give it to him willingly if he would only smile in your direction. The Lobo episode must have been quite dramatic. 

They spend the rest of the evening making companionable small-talk, occasionally joining in on conversation with Ashe and the Shimada parents or commenting on the shenanigans playing out before them at the long table of Deadlock ruffians. McCree seems to know some embarrassing story about each of the members of the troupe he and Ashe had brought with them to Hanamura. In some cases, several stories. Hanzo finds himself laughing much more than he usually does during these welcoming dinners. 

As the night wears on, they all eat more and drink more. Hanzo persuades the cowboy to try more sake, and in exchange has a few sips of whiskey. It's supposed to be of the highest quality, but Hanzo doesn't think he'll ever get used to the burn around his lips and in the back of his throat. McCree's cheeks take on a slight flush, and his laughs become louder and deeper. Though it seems to be growing more difficult, he's trying to abide by the etiquette he apparently spent so much time researching. Hanzo almost wants to tell him that the rules aren't that strict, and that no one in Hanamura would look twice at a tourist forgetting to use the hand towels. But he respects the effort McCree is putting forth, and it is entertaining to watch. Almost adorable, even. 

Eventually, Genji climbing into a Deadlock thug's lap prompts Hanzo to check the time. It's late, and he still has some work to do before he can go to bed. He turns to his parents, who regard him. "May I excuse myself?" His parents both nod, and bid him goodnight. Ashe does the same, raising her glass and wishing him a good night's sleep. McCree, however, does not let him go so easily. 

"Aw, you're leavin' already?" The cowboy looks genuinely put out, his brows furrowing and his lower lip jutting out. Hanzo feels a squeeze of unexpected regret. 

"It's almost midnight. I still have a few emails to send out, and I wake up early." 

"Sugar, midnight is when life begins! You can stay up a little, can't ya'?" 

Hanzo almost thinks about it for a moment. He is having a good time, which is a rarity at these sort of functions. And more specifically, he's having a good time with McCree. Hanzo can't recall a time when someone he wasn't related to seemed so affected by the idea of him leaving. Nor can he recall a time when he felt so reluctant to leave someone's company, especially when he had work to do. When he looks back, his parents and Ashe are engaged in another conversation. Everyone at the banquet table is occupied with Genji. Hanzo turns back to McCree, and scoots close enough to place a hand on McCree's wrist. 

"McCree, would you care to escort me back to my rooms? They're in the eastern wing of the estate." 

The cowboy's face shifts from confusion to realization in the span of a second. Then a wide, warm smile pulls at his mouth, and he reaches to his thigh to pick up his hat. "Darlin', that sounds better'n snuff. Lead the way." 

When they rise to their feet, the fact that McCree is leaving with Hanzo doesn't seem to phase anyone. Hanzo leads the other man out one of the four doors at each corner of the room. As they walk down the various halls that make up the estate, closer than they need to be but not close enough to be suspicious, each of McCree's eyes seem to be in competition with each other to take in the most of their surroundings. He takes in the sconces that light their way, the paintings on the walls and the occasional sculpture placed before the doors of particularly important rooms. He slows to a stop when they pass by the large window that leads out to one of the family's gardens. It is beautiful- cast in blue under the night sky, snow glimmering in the moonlight and the calm waters of the heated koi pond a still, reflective black. McCree’s eyes are wide as he takes the scene in. Hanzo finds himself ignoring the setting he’s more than familiar with to focus on the cowboy.

"Peaceful, isn't it? I meditate here sometimes, when the weather permits." Hanzo's voice is quiet. It's not a conscious choice, but the moment feels intimate, somehow. Enough for a murmur, at least. 

McCree's face is soft and open, unusual for a gangster of his caliber. He doesn't look at Hanzo when he answers, instead drinking in the tableau before him. "It's beautiful. Back home, it doesn't snow this much, so I guess I always liked it. The grass is always greener, and all that. When I was a kid and the rare blizzard came through, it always seemed like some sorta' magic to me. All... Puffy. And sparkly." 

Hanzo quirks an eyebrow. He was born in the underworld, raised by mobsters, nannied by contract killers. But in all his life, he's never known a sentimental gang lord. McCree is growing more intriguing by the minute, it seems. Hanzo reaches over and tugs on the man's flannel sleeve. "Come on. You'll have plenty of time to sightsee while you and Ashe are here." 

McCree looks to Hanzo for the first time since they passed the window. His eyes are gentle, despite how dark they look in the low light of the hallway. They flick down to where Hanzo is still holding his sleeve, then back up to meet his eyes. His smile is knowing, and more than a little self-satisfied. He reaches out, gingerly taking Hanzo’s hand in both of his own. They’re warm, and rough with callouses that attest to his familiarity with hard work. “I dunno,” he purrs, his eyes dark and lidded. “There’s plenty o’ fine things to look at ‘round here. I might never get my fill.”

Hanzo huffs out a laugh, shaking his head to hide the blush that’s working its way over his face. “Come on, cowboy.” He turns and pulls the other man down the hall by his hands. Behind him, McCree laughs quietly. 

They pass the hall leading to the gyms and shooting range before McCree speaks up again. "So, you said you speak some Spanish?" He almost sounds shy as he asks it, which Hanzo can't figure out. 

"Yes, I've been tutored in it since I was a child. I wouldn't call myself fluent, but I get by on business trips to South America without a translator." He pauses, then decides that he's curious enough to press for information. "Why do you ask?" 

McCree huffs out a little laugh, and scratches at the back of his neck. It's endearing, so much so that Hanzo gives the cowboy a small shove on his shoulder. "Come on, out with it." 

"It's nothin' much," McCree says, still laughing a bit. The twinge of red on his cheeks from the party has returned. "It's just, I grew up speakin' it more than English." 

"Is that so? Where did you grow up?" Hanzo takes a left turn, and gives another tug to Jesse's sleeve to get him to follow. They're reaching his rooms- one more door, and they would enter his living room. And now that they're here, Hanzo finds himself conflicted in a way he hadn't thought he'd be. He slows as they come to that door, and McCree lets out a whistle. 

"My stars an' garters, Mr. Shimada. You're so interested in lil' ol' me, I'm flattered." 

Hanzo turns, putting his back against the door and crossing his arms. He tries to maintain an air of confidence, to remain aloof, but McCree's hit a bulls-eye. He is interested. More interested than he usually is in his casual fucks, anyways. Suddenly and all at once, Hanzo realizes that he's made himself more vulnerable than he'd intended. The months of casual flirting, the banter at dinner. If it ends tonight, if they have a night of fun and then the game is over, he will miss it. Hanzo is suddenly and ridiculously afraid of McCree losing interest. 

When he draws his eyes up, McCree has drawn close enough that the brim of his hat is casting a shadow over Hanzo's face. When he inhales, the earthy smells of tobacco and cedar linger on the air. He can feel energy coiling around his left arm and surging through his chest. Even the dragons are interested in the cowboy, drawn to something carnal in him. A part of Hanzo, a large part, wants to close the distance. Claim McCree's mouth, slide the door open and pull him in. He wouldn't mind losing sleep for a night of debauchery. But would it come at the cost of the tenuous relationship they'd developed? 

"You gonna invite me in, sugar?" McCree's voice is low and has an edge, his eyes simmering with a low fire. He props one hand on the door behind them, and tilts the brim of his hat back so it doesn’t bump into Hanzo’s forehead. "I'll be good, promise. Mind my manners, show you a real good time." 

Hanzo tilts his head, but doesn't remove his chin from its perch atop McCree's finger. He raises an eyebrow. "Why, Mr. McCree. What kind of man do you think I am? I just asked you to escort me back to my room. You haven't even bought me dinner." 

Surprise flashes openly over McCree's face, followed quickly by confusion, and then a horrified sort of realization. The cowboy immediately backs off, removing his hands and taking two steps back. He looks visibly shaken at the idea of having misread the situation and come on to someone who didn't want him to. Hanzo tries to interrupt, "Shit, darlin'- I mean, Hanzo, uh. I'm so sorry, I'm outside my mind, I'm- Shit, Ashe is gonna kill me for screwin' this up, I-"

"McCree," Hanzo interrupts, trying to keep his voice firm through the laughter that threatens to shake it. The cowboy pauses in his self-flagellation and looks over at Hanzo. He seems halfway between remorse at putting Deadlock's deal in jeopardy and confusion at what the hell's so funny. Hanzo reaches out and rests a hand on McCree's shoulder, unable to keep the smile off his face. "That is not what I meant. You did not misread my intentions."

McCree instantly perks up, like a puppy offered a treat. He leans into Hanzo's hand, but doesn't reach out again. "Darlin', as relieved as I am to hear you say that, I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't confused. You just get off on messin' with fellas or what?" 

Hanzo huffs, and moves his hand to toy with the bandanna tied around the other man's neck. "Nothing of the sort. But I am not as easy as you seem to think I'll be." 

"Sugar, I meant no offense. I just-" 

"None taken. Our informants tell me you're an excellent marksman, that you call yourself 'the fastest gun in the West.' Is that true?" 

An easy grin spreads across McCree's face. It's obvious that he's more than used to bragging about his skills. "In the world, honeybee. I can shoot a hole straight through a butterfly's wing before it gets off a flower. But, what's that gotta do with you'n me?"

Hanzo shrugs, trying to remain nonchalant. The bait has been taken, and it doesn't seem like McCree will question the reason for the delay. Perfect. "I've been trained in the art of archery since I was a child. If you can out-shoot me, you will win your way into my bed. Is that acceptable?" 

McCree's eyebrows raise towards the brim of his hat in surprise, but at the same time his grin is turning into a wide smile. The challenge lights up his eyes, and though he obviously doesn't think he has a chance in hell of losing, he seems impressed by Hanzo's gumption. "You got some idea of foreplay, huh?" 

Hanzo raises a challenging eyebrow, and juts out his chin proudly. They stare off for a moment, until McCree shakes his head with a low chuckle. "Alright dollface, you're on. I'll meet you at the shooting range tomorrow at high noon, how's that sound?" 

Hanzo thinks for a moment, trying to remember the engagements he has tomorrow. "I am afraid that won't work, I have a holo-conference with the Russian ambassador to Japan. Meet me there at 2:30, and don't be late." 

"Roger that." McCree affirms, his smile still just as broad. He pauses for a moment, then leans in. Almost quicker than Hanzo can react, he feels stubble scraping against his own facial hair as McCree lays a kiss on his cheek. It's small, even chaste, and that's the most special thing about it. Hanzo can't remember the last time someone kissed his cheek. His grandmother, most likely, when he was a child. Despite the innocence of the gesture, Hanzo finds himself blushing. When McCree pulls back, he lingers for a moment before taking a step back. 

"You didn't earn that," Hanzo points out, crossing his arms as McCree straightens out his shirt and bandanna. The cowboy laughs, and sweeps his hat off of his head in a small, fluid bow.

"Who do you think you're talking to, sugar? I'm a thief, a scoundrel, and the sharpest shooter since Sergeant Grace. And I'll win your favor tomorrow, or I'll work through every bullet I got tryin'." 

Hanzo laughs, and slides the door to his quarters open. "Goodnight, McCree. Rest well, you will need your strength tomorrow." 

"Oh I hear ya', sugar. Our shootout should be a good warmup, don't you think?" 

Hanzo rolls his eyes and steps through the shoji door. He attempts to come across as exasperated, but the fond grin that's fighting its way onto his face ruins the act. "Goodnight, McCree." He slides it shut with a decisive slam. McCree's silhouette remains outside the door for a few more moments, before turning and receding down the hallway. Hanzo hopes he finds his way back, or at least runs into someone who can help him get to the quarters they've set up for Deadlock to stay in. 

Hanzo walks past his living area, and goes right for his en suite. As he sheds his clothes and takes his hair down from the bun he'd arranged it in, giddy butterflies roil in his stomach. The anticipation for tomorrow is going to kill him, but he isn't ready for the flirtatious game he and McCree have developed to end. It still may be just a game for the cowboy to win, but if that is the case then at least Hanzo can prepare himself for it. He sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair, trying to rid it of any tangles before he puts it up for the night. He can only hope that Genji won't hear about this before it happens.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the first two bullets he establishes a rhythm- breathe, aim, fire. Breathe, aim, fire. Each blast of his gun is accompanied by a target shuddering to a stop, a bullet buried in the center of it. Each of his pauses are filled by the soft whistle of Hanzo's bow, and by their third shots they've fallen into a beat. Twang, thud, target stops, bang, thud, target stops. It sounds like music Jesse hadn't realized he could play, or a choreographed dance he'd never realized he knew the steps to. He aims while Hanzo shoots, and while Hanzo's aiming Jesse lines up. It continues this way until their last, with one of Jesse's bullets digging into a hard light target only seconds before one of Hanzo's arrows is shuddering in the center of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, dear readers!  
> thanks for coming back to this fic. i've more or less settled into my spring semester schedule, so i'm going to really try and make it a habit to do a bit of fic writing every day. hopefully i'll be able to get these chapters up more quickly. again, thank you to my great beta Deos, as well as my friend funky-clown for editing and listening to my midnight idea-rants. 
> 
> if anyone wants to find me elsewhere to yell about fandom stuff or offer constructive criticism, i'm on tumblr as silverthread-writes! i know tumblr is kinda dying, so i'm thinking about setting up a fic twitter for posts about when i update/ideas i have. would anyone be interested in anything like that? let me know!

"You're kidding me."

Genji shakes his head. Even in the low light of Jesse's room, the shine bouncing off his green hair looks almost unnatural. Well, even more unnatural. 

"It's called the Ohmato Taikai. It's this traditional competition- well, it's more of a debutante ball, really. Everyone who's turning 20 that year gets all dressed up, shows up at the temple and shoots at targets all day. It's like a coming of age thing. But after that, they have demonstrations by older archers. Usually it's like, fifty-year-old geezers. But the past four years, they've invited Hanzo to give demonstrations. He's the most renowned archer in Japan, probably in Asia." 

Jesse scrubs his hands over his face. "Awh, hell's bells. I'm screwed, I'm so screwed." 

Genji slings a leg over the arm of the chair he's sitting in. "Doesn't sound like you're gonna be doing any screwing, vaquero." 

Jesse shoots him a dirty look through his fingers. He's sitting on his bed, in the private room the Shimadas had supplied him with. Ashe and B.O.B had one too, and the rest of their people were sleeping four to a room in the five rooms across the hall. He'd been concerned at first that the living quarters would be too tight, but everything seemed to be working out. At least, if the three Deadlock personnel cuddling Genji in two pushed-together beds was anything to go by. 

He hadn't been mad. Actually, Jesse had been looking for the younger Shimada when he’d wandered into the room assigned to Deadlock’s people. After Hanzo had issued his challenge last night, Jesse had gone to bed more excited than he'd been for anything since the Farmington job last year. When he'd woken up, though, one thing that Hanzo had said last night was echoing in his head. 'I've been trained in the art of archery since I was a child.'

But that meant it was just a hobby, right? People took childhood hobbies from childhood into adulthood all the time. Sports, music, crafts. It didn't mean Hanzo was especially good at it. He was too busy learning all those languages and getting tutored in economics to put time into something like archery. That's what Jesse had told himself, at least. Before he'd sought out Genji and brought him to his room for a very important, high-stakes meeting. About knocking boots with his brother. The highest of stakes. 

He'd felt alright about his chances before they started talking, but then Genji had informed him that his brother was the most prolific archer in the eastern hemisphere. That just about blew out any confidence the gunslinger had in his ability to outshoot the Shimada heir. Jesse had never competed at any national championships, never won any accolades. His only real contests had been ones where his life was on the line. It’s quite possible that he’s not as good as he thinks he is, that he’s just gotten by being quicker than the last person rather than being a genuinely good shot. He lifts his head from his hands, and sets his elbows on his knees. "So what you're saying is I got no chance then, huh?" 

Genji takes a drag off of the cigarette he's smoking. As McCree watches, he notices that it looks suspiciously like the rolling paper that Ames uses. When he exhales, the comforting smell of tobacco blows in Jesse's direction. "I gotta ask you, cowboy. Why're you so set on my brother? With your looks and your money, you could have anyone in Hanamura. How about I take you out to one of our clubs tonight? After you lose royally to my brother, obviously."

Jesse groans and falls back on the bed with a heavy thud, his arms stretched out to either side and his sheepish smile turned up towards the ceiling. "I dunno. I've liked him since we started talks about this whole thing. He's smart, an' he's capable, he's hotter'n a June bride, and he's funny to boot. I just like spending’ time with him, I guess. Ain’t that enough?" 

Genji lets out a loud laugh. It's not a huff or a single harsh exhalation, the way Hanzo laughs. It rings out like small bells. "Hanzo's been called a lot of things, but I don't think I've ever heard 'funny'. You must have a serious screw loose." 

Despite his disappointment in the increasingly diminishing chances that he'll bed the elder Shimada, Jesse smiles. "More than a few screws, I'd wager." Genji laughs again. 

There are a few moments of silence, Jesse staring at the ceiling and Genji occasionally taking drags off his cigarette. Eventually, the younger Shimada lets out a sigh that isn't accompanied by a puff of smoke. "You're overthinking this, Jesse. You're gonna be fine." 

McCree lifts up on his elbows, enough so that he's able to look over at Genji. "Oh yeah? To hear you tell it, I ain't got a prayer. So you're gonna have to elaborate." 

"Hanzo likes you, simple as that. And that's a pretty rare thing. Like, he gets along with people fine, but he's not the kind of guy who talks to someone all night just because they're seated next to him." 

Jesse frowns. It had seemed like they'd had a good time at dinner last night, the flirting had felt natural and he'd made Hanzo laugh. He'd been told that the Shimada heir was polite but dry and humorless, but pulling chuckles out of him had been easy as anything. When Hanzo had invited Jesse to his rooms, he'd thought the deal was done. But then Hanzo had turned everything around, denied him at the door and put McCree back on his spurred heels. Jesse knows what he looks like, and he knows he’s charming. He’s used to getting whoever he wants, but for once he’s the one who’s getting led around like a roped steer. It’s as frustrating as it is intriguing. "But this thing with the shoot-out. Is that just him stalling for time, or what?"

A trail of smoke follows the cigarette between Genji's fingers as he flutters his hand in the air. "No, no way. If he didn't like you, you'd know it. Hanzo doesn't suffer fools gladly, which is why I'm surprised he's putting this much effort into you."

Jesse ignores the jab, more concerned with getting to the bottom of the elder Shimada's strange behavior than trading snark with the younger. "Then what's the deal?" 

"He's just playing hard to get. I know he seems all stiff and stoic, but he's got a dramatic streak a mile wide. Even if you lose, which you probably will, he's gonna wanna jump your bones. Trust me." 

Jesse huffs, and lays back down. Genji seems confident, but the cowboy can't shake the worry that he'd overstepped some boundary, that Hanzo had panicked and set up this challenge to buy himself some time to let Jesse down easy. Beyond the possibility of fucking up their deal with the Shimadas, Jesse just can't stand the thought of being disrespectful or impolite. 

He rolls on his side. The holo-clock on the bedside table reads 11: 27. Jesse sighs. It's gonna be a long couple of hours. 

 

Around two o'clock, Genji leads Jesse through the maze-like hallways of the Shimada estate to the shooting range. They pick up about five Deadlock members on their way there, though Jesse barely gets a passing 'hey, boss' before they turn their attentions towards Genji. They all follow after him like lovesick pups, and it's pretty entertaining. Jesse's pretty sure Ashe won't be as amused by their antics. That said, there ain't much Ashe is amused by.

The shooting range is next to what Genji calls a training room, where they work on close-range combat like hand-to-hand and swordsmanship. As they pass, Jesse wonders what Hanzo looks like with a sword in his hand. He seems like the type of man to strive for excellence in all things, so he's probably great. He can see it now- Hanzo, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, cutting his way through bags full of sand and rope as thick as his forearm. He'd be elegant and efficient, beautiful and terrifying enough to move the greatest poet to reach for their pen or strike fear into the heart of the toughest thug. 

"Hey, cowboy!" Two sharp snaps in front of his nose draw Jesse's attention. He looks slightly down to see Genji, scowling up at him with his arm around Annabelle. Jesse smiles. 

"Hey, sorry. Must've gotten lost in thought. You were sayin'?" 

Genji crosses his arms. "I was sayin' that I'm great with a sword, and I should teach you sometime. Also, we're here." 

Jesse turns. The doorway opens on a wide range with a high ceiling, and all sorts of mobile targets on wheels and hovering platforms. They're pretty deep in the estate, so there aren't any windows, which Jesse supposes is a good thing. Hanzo doesn't seem like the type to miss a shot, but it still wouldn't be a great idea to locate your shooting range in an area where an arrow could pass through a window and hit some gardener or something. There's even a little viewing area off in the corner, which Genji and his five orbiting moons make a beeline for. A couple of them are on their phones, probably texting the others to come check out the event that Genji has no doubt explained to them already. 

Jesse walks up to the black line of paint demarcating the actual range. Peacekeeper is a comfortable weight on his right hip as he stares down the range. He takes a few deep, steadying breaths. There isn't anything to psych himself up about. He's shot clay targets, tin cans on top of boulders, and people as they fumbled for their own weapons. He'll be fine. 

He wishes he could accept Genji's assurance that he's going to lose, and start coming up with ways he can charm his way into Hanzo's bed after what seems like an inevitable loss. But he's got a competitive streak a mile wide when it comes to shooting. It's about the only thing he's good at, and he's used to being the best. If he gets thoroughly trounced, it’s going to be a serious blow to his pride. He can only hope he doesn't make too much of a fool of himself. 

"Well, I'm certainly not used to being the last person to a meeting." 

Hanzo's voice behind him just about makes Jesse jump out of his skin. Somehow he manages not to gasp, and when he turns around it's easy to put on a winning smile. It's like an involuntary reflex to turn on the charm, when Hanzo looks the way he does. He's wearing a purple button-down and black slacks. His hair is pulled back in some sort of bun, with something golden pushed through it. It's a variation on the same outfit he'd worn on all of their holo-conferences. Of course, he looks better in person than in 2D. 

"Sweetheart, 'punctual' is my middle name." Jesse smiles over at Hanzo. The man returns it, before something over Jesse's shoulder catches his eye. His brows knit together and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. When Jesse follows his line of sight, he sees Genji's shit-eating smile from across the room. The younger Shimada wiggles his fingers in a wave, prompting laughter from the small crowd around him. 

Jesse turns back to Hanzo, and lets out an uneasy laugh. "Uh, sorry about that. Not sure how he heard, but he came to my room a while ago and-" 

Hanzo shakes his head, obviously suppressing a smile. "It's fine. It was wishful thinking to assume this would remain private." 

Jesse quirks an eyebrow, and chances a step closer to Hanzo. They're nearly chest-to-chest, so Jesse lowers his voice. "Aw, sugar. You wanted to be alone with lil ol' me? I'm pretty sure we could arrange that." 

Hanzo's face is caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. His eyes are dark as he puts a hand on Jesse's chest and leans in. For a split second Jesse hopes for something, a small kiss like the one he'd stolen last night. Instead, Hanzo pushes him, gently but insistently, back. 

"We are going to be using special targets today. They are similar to clay targets, but instead of being tossed up they hover and move in a manner that mimics natural patterns. Does first man to ten bullseyes sound fair?" 

Jesse slides Peacekeeper out of her holster and flicks open the barrel. "Shoot, sweetheart, I dunno. I only got six bullets per round." Hanzo, who's made his way to a rack holding several bows and different kinds of arrows, looks over at him. Their eyes meet. "How about we make it eighteen, and stop each six to check?" 

Hanzo's face breaks into what is possibly the widest smile Jesse has seen from him to date. He obviously appreciates the challenge, and admires that Jesse made things more interesting instead of taking an easier number like twelve. "Very well." The Shimada turns his gaze back to the rack, where several rows of bows hang, but the grin remains on his face. Even if he loses, Jesse will count that as a personal victory. 

It's muscle memory to thumb six bullets out of his belt and load them into Peacekeeper's barrel. Jesse doesn't have to look to make sure they fit properly into the chamber, but he does. It's a calming ritual, a reminder of what he can do and how good at it he is. He's not going to embarrass himself. 

When Hanzo steps up to the line of demarcation, he's holding a bow about half his height. It looks like it's made of blue and black carbon fiber, with matching arrows resting in a quiver slung across his back. The image Hanzo makes is a juxtaposition that Jesse can't help but find funny. Hanzo looks like a hoity-toity salary man in his button-down and smart slacks, but with a weapon in his hand, he exudes power the way storm clouds on the horizon do. The hairs on the back of Jesse's neck feel like they're standing on end, but he's sure that's just his imagination. 

Hanzo pulls his phone out, and it looks like he's doing something but Jesse is too focused on the fingers of Hanzo's other hand to pay attention. He's undoing the first button of his shirt. Where the cuff pulls up, Jesse can see the edges of a tattoo curling around the man's wrist. It looks blue, but Jesse can't see more than that. He wonders if he'll get lucky and see the rest of it. 

The gentle hum of hovercraft draws Jesse's attention back to the shooting range. Whatever Hanzo was fiddling with on his phone must have controlled the targets, because several of them are suddenly buzzing around the range. They're about the size and shape of traditional clay targets, round discs with a depression in the center to mark a bullseye. But instead of being bright orange, they're made of some kind of transparent blue material that looks like a bullet would pass right through. It's unlike anything he's seen before, and the confusion must be evident on his face. 

"The targets are made of hard light." Hanzo answers Jesse's unasked question as he steps up to the line of demarcation. He's undone the second button on his shirt, and when he shifts Jesse can see the elegant dip of his collarbone and a peek of his tattoo on his chest. It's a shielding material that absorbs energy, so it isn't deformed by projectiles. Instead of shattering, arrows and bullets lodge in them. It is good for keeping track of one's grouping." 

Jesse nods, following along like he has any idea about something like hard-light tech. That kind of thing bores him to tears, but he knows Ashe would kill him if he didn't try to find out more. "I've never heard'a somethin' like that, sounds pretty fancy. Where'd ya'll find 'em?"

Hanzo grins, his chin tilting up proudly. He seems to revel in knowing something Jesse doesn't. "My family has a friend at the Vishkar Corporation. The technology is in development for use in architecture, but he's looking to use it for consumer goods like windows, speakers, and, well. Shooting targets." Hanzo pauses for a moment, then nods towards the range. "Shall we?"

They both step to the line of demarcation. The targets are hovering about five feet off the ground and moving erratically, buzzing around like flies in a jar. Jesse takes a deep, centering breath. He thinks of home- of their green farm, the red mountains in the distance, a row of cans and bottles set up on their solar fence, and his mom's hands over his as she reminded him to look at the gun, not the target. 

"Ready?" He asks, his voice steady. 

"Begin." Hanzo says, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. 

So Jesse does. With the first two bullets he establishes a rhythm- breathe, aim, fire. Breathe, aim, fire. Each blast of his gun is accompanied by a target shuddering to a stop, a bullet buried in the center of it. Each of his pauses are filled by the soft whistle of Hanzo's bow, and by their third shots they've fallen into a beat. Twang, thud, target stops, bang, thud, target stops. It sounds like music Jesse hadn't realized he could play, or a choreographed dance he'd never realized he knew the steps to. He aims while Hanzo shoots, and while Hanzo's aiming Jesse lines up. It continues this way until their last, with one of Jesse's bullets digging into a hard light target only seconds before one of Hanzo's arrows is shuddering in the center of another. 

They look over to each other at the same moment, and it feels like waking up from a deep sleep. Jesse wants to say something snarky, but his voice feels caught in his throat. Is Hanzo blushing? Before the cowboy can find something to say, Hanzo looks down at his phone. He clicks something and all the targets freeze. The ones neither of them caught retreat to the back, while the pierced ones come to the front. Those with arrows and those with bullets organize themselves into neat lines, and Hanzo crosses the line of demarcation to appraise those targets with bullets embedded in the hard light. Jesse gets the idea, and crosses to inspect Hanzo's targets. 

It only takes a cursory examination for dismay to start setting in. Try as he might, Jesse can't find a flaw in Hanzo's shooting. Each arrow is clean through the center, his placement so perfect that Jesse thinks if they'd been using traditional archery targets, each arrow would have split through the former. Jesse bites the inside of his cheek. He knows he's good, great even, but he think he might have met his match in Hanzo Shimada. What were they supposed to do in the event of a draw? Genji had seemed sure that Hanzo wanted him no matter what, but Jesse wasn't so sure. Hanzo seemed like the kind of man who demanded the best. Jesse was the best, to your average person, but he wasn't sure Hanzo had the same standards. 

"Count me impressed." Hanzo's voice cuts across the range. When Jesse looks over at him their eyes meet, and Hanzo isn't even trying to hide the intrigued tone of his voice. "I see no fault. And I can't remember a time I was able to say that about someone other than myself." 

Jesse chuckles. "Ditto, darlin'. Guess it's a good thing we're goin' best outta three, ain't it?"

A strange, almost confused smile spreads over Hanzo's face. "Indeed."

Hanzo crosses the short distance to his targets, and retrieves his arrows. Jesse steps back to give him space, but doesn't try to hide the way he watches as the Shimada grabs each arrow and pulls it loose from the hard light targets. Sometime during their respective inspections, Hanzo has rolled up the sleeves of his button up. Jesse's eyes track the muscles of his forearms as they flex and release. The tattoo on his left arm twines up and under the sleeve, but from what Jesse can see it's some kind of snake, or maybe dragon? He wonders how far up it goes. Does it stop at his shoulder? Continue down his back? 

Hanzo clears his throat. Jesse's been caught, but he can't bring himself to even pretend to feel embarrassed. Hanzo doesn't look like he minds. He tilts his chin in the direction of the demarcating line. Jesse nods, and they head back towards it. His fingers are already itching to shoot again, to revisit the strange synchronicity he and Hanzo had created for a few brief seconds. He doesn't know Hanzo very well, but Jesse likes to think he knows how to read people. And from the way Hanzo wastes no time returning to his spot and starting up the target program again, he'd be willing to bet that he isn't the only one who was intrigued. Maybe he still had a shot, even if he lost as Genji was so sure he would. 

The second round proceeds much like the first. Each man made quick work of the six projectiles they had stocked, and they again fell into rhythms that naturally twined around each other. When he really got in a groove Jesse sometimes thought of his gun as a drum, a pounding, steady beat. The addition of the snap of Hanzo's bow gave it a counter, something to bounce off of. 

Frustratingly, their assessment of each other’s targets also goes much the same. Jesse glances over to see if he can spot anything like sights on Hanzo’s bow, but if they’re there he doesn’t see them. How could someone be so precise with something so big and powerful? 

When they return to their spots for the final round, they don’t speak at all. A minute nod in the corner of Jesse’s eye tells him Hanzo’s ready, and he returns it. By now they’re fully twined around each other like a braid- it’s impossible to tell who started and who followed, or if they just picked up where they’d left off last round. Jesse knows, at least, how this song ends. Hanzo’s marksmanship is as flawless as his own, and barring an act of God this could only end in a draw. Jesse tries to think of a wedge to dig at Hanzo with, some reason he didn’t get a fair shake, but comes up with nothing. At least he has the satisfaction of proving Genji wrong. 

He barely has to look at the last round of targets. They’re all skewered by a perfectly-centered arrow, just as sure as Jesse knows each of his are pierced by perfectly-centered bullet.   
Soft footsteps on his right prompt him to look to his side, where Hanzo is standing with a hand on his hip. He looks significantly less nervous than Jesse suddenly feels. 

“It seems we are equals. Congratulations, I did not think my match in marksmanship existed.” 

Jesse grins. “Shucks, darlin’, that’s real sweet. But, that presents a problem for us, don’t it? What do we do with a draw?” 

Hanzo taps a finger to his smiling lips, evidently mulling it over. Jesse gets the sense that he’s being taken for a ride, but he can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. He hopes Hanzo’s knowing grin bodes well for him, but one can never be too careful. “I’m not sure,” Hanzo finally says. “Perhaps we should meet tonight, and discuss what to do. Say, around ten?” 

A slow smile spreads across Jesse’s face. Relief floods him, but he tries not to show it too much. He gets the idea. “Sounds peachy to me. And what sorta venue are you thinkin’?” 

Hanzo’s grin grows into a smile. “I trust you can find your way back to my rooms, yes?” 

Jesse makes a concerted effort not to jump for joy. “Pretty sure I could. You said ten, yeah?” 

“Yes. I have a terribly interesting dinner to attend with some terribly interesting politicians, and I should be back by then.” 

Jesse empathizes greatly with the reluctance in Hanzo’s voice. Ashe isn’t any good at glad-handing possible benefactors, given her general disdain for the upper class she was raised with. So it falls to him to kiss the asses of the people with the money they need to continue operation. It’s not his favorite part of the job, but it’s necessary. He can’t imagine Hanzo enjoys it either, but he’d be willing to bet he’s real good at it. 

“Well, I’ll let you get gussied up, or whatever you need to do. I’ll be waitin’ outside your door at quarter to ten, sharp.” 

Hanzo nods, and sets off to the rack behind them to hang up his bow and store his arrows. He looks hesitant, and Jesse understands. Now that the pressure’s off, he could shoot with Hanzo all day. He’s got some trick shots up his sleeve that he breaks out when he really wants to impress someone, and he’d be willing to bet that Hanzo’s got some too. 

When he’s done, Hanzo does up the two buttons he’d undone before they started shooting. Jesse thinks that should probably be criminal, but it’s not like any of the Shimadas are much for following rules anyways. “Good afternoon, Mr. McCree. Thank you for an interesting match.” 

Jesse tips his hat. “Any time, darlin’. And, please. Call me Jesse.” 

Again, that somewhat confused smile makes its way onto Hanzo’s face. Jesse isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing to deserve that look, but it seems positive and it makes Hanzo look softer, so he isn’t exactly complaining. “As you wish, M- Jesse. I will see you tonight.” 

 

Jesse whistles all the way back to his room. News travels fast, it seems; the three Deadlock members standing outside his door (pretending they're doing a job much more important than any chore could ask them to do, Jesse reckons,) congratulate him with knowing smiles when he brushes past them. Jesse chuckles and brushes past, into his room. He wants to clean up a little, if only to give himself something to do while he waits. He's got a few button-downs that are nicer than his usual flannels, some pomade he can run through his hair. He turns to the dresser that's been serving as his vanity, and his smile only falters a little. 

"Thought you were in meetin's all day." 

Ashe raises an eyebrow. She's leaning against his dresser, arms crossed. Since Jesse met her, she's never gone a day in her life hiding what she thinks and feels. He didn't have to be an expert at reading people to know she was pissed. "They finished up. I was lookin' forward to goin' back to my room and enjoyin' a nice bath when my phone just started goin' off like a goddamn hornet's nest. You know what the buzz was?"

Jesse shrugs. He knows playing dumb is a futile effort, but in his defense it's how he's gotten by most of his adult life. Plus, there's little he enjoys more than winding Ashe up, and if she was already fit to have a conniption, he might as well have some fun. "Haven't the slightest. Someone propose to Genji already?" 

Ashe narrows her eyes. She crosses the room in two clicks of her heeled boots, and comes right up to him. Jesse makes no attempt to move away, instead staring right back at Ashe, his calm gaze meeting her fiery one. Despite being a head shorter than him, she has a way of looking down her nose at him. "Jesse McCree," she starts, poking his chest with a finger. "We do not want a repeat of the Lobo incident. I know you, and you got a snowball's chance in hell of keepin' it in your pants while we're here. You better make this a one-time thing, or so help me God, a brokenhearted yakuza boss is gonna be the least of your worries." 

Jesse smiles, and reaches out to take Ashe's hand in his own. "Ashe, honey-" 

Ashe sighs. Nothing good ever follows one of his 'Ashe, honey's, and yet she always ends up going with it. 

"I know how important this deal is for the gang, I wouldn't dream of wreckin' it. Do you really think I'm that dumb?" 

Ashe snorts, though her face is already softening. "Dumb enough to get caught with Emidio's body guard." 

"I was tryin' to get information on their supplier, how many times I gotta tell you that?" 

"Her panties were a funny place to look for it." 

"Hush up. Anyways, I got a plan." Ashe opens her mouth, but Jesse reaches out to pinch her lips closed. "First off, I don't think he's the type to get all lovey-dovey and attached. Emidio was the spoiled youngest child of a drug lord, Hanzo is next in line to head Japan's most powerful crime syndicate. Two completely different cases. But, if he is some closet romantic, you're gonna thank me. Hanzo's got his parents' ear, more so than Emidio ever had his. Nothing's set in stone, so wouldn't it help us if a certain heir had a soft spot for one of the heads of a certain gang? Nod for yes." 

Ashe nods, and Jesse continues. "Right. So you really ain't got nothin' to worry about. Either we have our fun and he doesn't want any more, or he does and we got 'im in our pocket. We use that leverage to get a sweeter deal, then we go back home and I string him along over phone and holo-conference for as long as it's convenient. Sound good?" 

Jesse takes his fingers off Ashe's lips. She's shifted from pissed to generally annoyed, but Ashe had always been the pragmatist between them. She knew a good score when it showed up. "Alright, fine." She concedes. "But I swear, on everything we've built together, don't fall for him. We got no reason to think they ain't doin' the same to us." 

Jesse takes a step back, clearing the way for Ashe to leave. "C'mon Ashe, you know me. I got two heads; one does the thinking, and the other wears the hat." 

Ashe rolls her eyes, but Jesse can see that she's barely stifling a smile. He doesn't know if there's anyone else who can calm Ashe down when she's got her tail up, but he sure hopes they never show up. He'd probably be out of a job. 

Ashe leaves, significantly calmer but no less busy. When she's gone, Jesse sighs, and looks towards the mirror. At least if Hanzo wasn't interested in continuing anything, Ashe wouldn't be up his ass about this whole thing. And if, by some chance, Hanzo wanted to see him again... Well, he'd figure it out when it came to pass. He looks to the holo-clock on the wall. Just past three. The hours until ten stretch before him like an expanse of desert. He tries to put the discomfort of kinda-sorta lying to Ashe out of his mind, and looks for a his "put-together but not trying too hard" button-down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, reader!  
> Sorry I went for so long between updates, school is pretty hectic right now! Here's an extra-long chapter to make it up to ya'll, where I finally earn the explicit rating. Huge thanks to my betas funky-clown and Deos!
> 
> This chapter contains explicit sexual content but also some important character info, so if sex isn't your thing please skip about halfway down the chapter. Also, this is my first time writing anything explicit, so my apologies if it's unpolished. 
> 
> While we're in the warnings territory, there is also a part towards the end where Hanzo tells the story of how he lost his legs. It's not overly gory, but it is violent. If that isn't your thing, please be warned.
> 
> There's also some Spanish in this one- I tried to find as legitimate an online translator as I could, but if anything is inaccurate please let me know! I will include translations in the end notes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

It’s half past eleven when Hanzo finally makes his way back to his rooms. He’d planned to leave the dinner at half past nine in order to make it through Hanamura and back to the estate by ten, but he’d gotten caught up in conversation with a member of the Daigo family. Daigo senior was one of the most powerful women in Japan, a member of the Prime Minister’s cabinet. Hanzo had been hoping to meet with her at an upscale gala that was being hosted outside the city, but in her place she had sent her nephew, a young man named Toshiyuki. Hanzo, determined not to put the opportunity to waste, had struck up conversation with the man. They discussed history and art, and had a surprising amount of commonalities. Hanzo had lost track of time, and the first time he’d checked his phone, it was already ten. He’d had to excuse himself, with a promise that he and Toshiyuki would get lunch sometime. 

Hanamura is a busy city, with a night life that the Shimadas had no small hand in making as exciting as possible. Given the number of clubs and venues packed into the city, traffic had been considerable on the way back. Despite his omnic chauffeur taking the fastest route back to the estate, it still takes an hour to get back. By the time Hanzo is walking down the hallway to his quarters, a certain cowboy is sitting on the ground outside his door, his back propped against the wall and head slumped over towards one shoulder. 

Hanzo comes to stand in front of Jesse, stepping quietly enough to avoid waking him. He’s a little surprised Jesse is this tired; based on the antics of the rest of his crew, he would have expected McCree to be used to staying up well into the early hours of the morning. But here he is, snoring softly on his arm with his hat pulled low over his eyes. It’s strangely intimate. Hanzo feels bad enough about making the cowboy wait that he doesn’t startle him awake with a pinch or a snap. Instead he bends over to tilt Jesse’s hat up over his eyes, and lightly flicks his cheek. “McCree. McCree, wake up.” 

Brown eyes blink open. There’s a moment of tension, Jesse’s hand jerks towards his belt as he looks around. But it only takes a few seconds before the cowboy realizes where he is, and who’s doing the waking. His face softens immediately when he looks up at Hanzo. “Well, howdy there. Sorry, I was waitin’ and I guess I dozed off.” 

Hanzo straightens up and reaches out a hand. “Think nothing of it. I should apologize- I got caught up in conversation and lost track of time. Thank you for waiting.” 

Jesse takes Hanzo’s hand. Hanzo pulls him up with a little more force than necessary, pulling the cowboy up close so they’re almost nose-to-nose. Jesse goes willingly, smiling down at Hanzo. Neither lets go of the other’s hand. “Don’t worry about it, pumpkin. Though the way you’re lookin’, I’m not sure I’ve really woken up.” 

Hanzo rolls his eyes, but he can’t quell the vain pride swelling in his chest. The gala had been semi-formal, so he’d worn a dark red two-piece suit. His hair is up in much the same way as it had been during their shoot-out, kept in place by a delicate kanzashi. The intention had been to impress, both at the dinner and the late-night rendezvous after. He brushes the pad of his pointer finger against the hollow of Jesse’s wrist. His pulse beats, steady and sure. “Does that silver tongue of yours ever rest?” 

A lascivious smile spreads across the cowboy’s face. “Why don’t you invite me in and find out?” 

Despite his brazen front, Hanzo can see through to the well-hidden unease in Jesse’s eyes, hear the edge of anxiety in his voice. He’s asking to be let in, not outright, but he’s clearly nervous that Hanzo will deny him again. The heir almost wants to draw this out, just to make Jesse squirm, but he still feels bad for making the man wait. Hanzo shifts his grip on Jesse’s hand, lacing his fingers through the cowboy’s, and pulls him towards the door. 

The shoji has barely slid shut behind them before Hanzo turns on his heel, using his grip on Jesse’s hand to pull him in close. The cowboy goes easily, leaning into Hanzo and resting a hand on his chest. Hanzo brushes his thumb over the back of Jesse’s hand.

“I am going to get out of this suit. There’s a liquor cupboard in the kitchen; go make us some drinks, then I will meet you.” 

Jesse laughs softly, shaking his head. “You always this bossy, or am I just lucky?” 

Hanzo laughs through his nose and takes a step back. He slides his hand out of Jesse’s, and misses the warmth almost immediately. “Just hurry up.” 

“Yeah, I hear ya’. How do you like it?” 

“Neat, thank you.” Hanzo turns on his heel and makes the small walk towards the door of his room. His quarters aren’t lavish, aside from the fact that it’s essentially a private apartment inside his family’s large estate. It’s not long before the shoji is sliding shut behind him, and he sets to shrugging off his suit jacket and pants. As he steps out of the puddle of fabric Hanzo pauses a moment, his eyes cast down and fixed on his prosthetics. 

A small bloom of anxiety spreads in his stomach. What if Jesse is disgusted? Worse, what if he isn’t, but every time he looks at Hanzo his face is shadowed by pity? Hanzo doesn’t think he can handle that. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Jesse is a gentleman, if Hanzo asked him to leave, he would. 

Hanzo takes a steadying breath. There’s no reason to panic- after all, what does it matter if Jesse is bothered by his prosthetics? He could go to the nearest club and have someone here to replace Jesse within the hour. There’s nothing to be worried about. 

When he leaves his room, Hanzo has changed from his stuffy suit to a much more relaxed yukata. His hair is down, the stick and comb that had held it in place tucked in his belt. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jesse, but they were heirlooms, and one could never be too careful. 

When he steps into the lounge area, Jesse is reclined on one of the low couches, fiddling with a lighter. On the table in front of him are two drinks, with a bottle of whiskey sitting between them. Jesse straightens up in his seat when he notices Hanzo in the doorway, tucking the lighter in one of his pockets and leaning back on his hands. 

“Leave it to you to find the single bottle of whiskey I have in my stores.” 

Jesse laughs as Hanzo makes his way towards the couch. “I was surprised to find it. They actually sell Nikka in the states, it’s one of my favorites.” 

“Really? It’s common, you can find it in any liquor store.” 

“Just ‘cause it’s common don’t mean it ain’t good.” 

Hanzo settles next to Jesse on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “I suppose so.” 

He doesn’t miss the way the cowboy’s eyes flick down to his prosthetics, his feet and the lower half of his calves exposed as they are. Jesse looks back up to his eyes, and for a sickening moment that anxiety once again finds root in his gut. What is he going to say? 

“Haven’t seen your hair down before,” Jesse says, his voice strangely soft. His left hand twitches, obviously moving to reach out before he thinks better of it. “Looks nice. Not that it don’t look nice when it’s up, and I like those stick-things you put in it, but-” He cuts himself off, a sheepish smile taking over his face. “Just, it looks nice this way too.” 

Hanzo lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Jesse reaches out for his drink, obviously looking for something to do with his hands. Hanzo sweeps his hair over one shoulder, taking pride in the way Jesse’s eyes track the movement. “Thank you. Though, they’re not stick-things.” 

While Jesse takes a draw from his drink, Hanzo produces the two hairpieces from his belt. One is a small comb, the other a thin rod with caps at each end. They’re both made of gold, with diamonds embedded along their lengths. Jesse leans in to inspect them, and Hanzo doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up with admiration and more than a little greed. 

“The word for hairpieces like these is kanzashi. There are different kinds, but these are some of the most common; kushi,” Hanzo holds up the comb, “and kogai.” 

“They’re beautiful.” 

“And deadly.” Hanzo takes the kogai and removes one of the delicate caps, revealing a thin, sharp point of steel. Holding it between two fingers, Hanzo flicks to the side. It buries deep in the wood of the table, mere inches from the whiskey bottle. “They were originally just a means of keeping one’s hair up, but the wives of samurai utilized them as a method of self-defense that they could take anywhere and access quickly.” Hanzo grasps the end of the kogai and pulls it smoothly from the table. “These are heirlooms my mother gave me, passed down through her family for several generations.” 

Jesse gives a low whistle, appropriately impressed. Then, though, to Hanzo’s surprise, the cowboy laughs, low in his chest. Hanzo purses his lips. “What?” 

“Beautiful, an’ deadly. Just reminds me of someone I know, is all.” 

Hanzo feels his face heat up. Now it’s his turn to reach out for his drink, more as an excuse not to make eye contact. “Oh?” He asks, feigning casual indifference. 

“Yeah,” Jesse continues, his voice strangely fond as he looks over at Hanzo. “He’s a real catch. Smart as a whip, funny, hot as anything. He’s got this younger brother, and he’s great’n’all, and everyone I know is fallin’ over themselves going for him. But I’m still tryin’ to figure out why no one but me thinks this guy is cooler’n the other side of the pillow.” 

Hanzo takes a sip from his glass. He can feel himself blushing, but he tries to maintain his disinterested tone. “His brother must be a catch as well, if everyone else is trying to win his affection. What sets this man apart?” 

“Oh, the brother is. But this guy, I think he intimidates all of ‘em. Like I said, he’s deadly as he is gorgeous, and he’s plenty’o both. They know that, and it scares ‘em.” 

Hanzo quirks a smile. “Then why on Earth are you so interested?” 

Jesse leans in, his voice dropping to an intimate, conspiratorial whisper. Hanzo finds himself mirroring the cowboy. “Well, between you’n me, I got a thing for danger.” 

Hanzo leans in close enough to brush his lips against Jesse’s. He can smell the whiskey on the other man’s breath and the earthy smell of tobacco on his clothes. “Do you think this man could be dangerous?” 

Jesse’s eyes droop, but he doesn’t push forward. “Yeah, sure as a cat’s got climbing gear.” 

“He might get you in trouble, you know.” 

“Oh, I’m countin’ on it.” 

When they kiss, Hanzo is surprised by how easily Jesse cedes control. Hanzo leans forward on one hand and reaches the other behind Jesse’s neck, gently holding him in place. The cowboy parts his lips, but waits for Hanzo to introduce his tongue before following suit. The most forward he gets is reaching up to card his fingers through Hanzo’s hair. He groans softly, and Hanzo feels vain pride swell in his chest.

When they part Jesse’s eyes are bright. Hanzo brushes his thumb down the strong column of his neck, and Jesse’s chin tips up. Goosebumps rise in the wake of Hanzo’s touch, and Jesse’s throat bobs as he swallows. The dragons inside Hanzo stir with want, drawn to the pounding of the man’s pulse and the willingness which with he exposes this most vulnerable place. 

“See somethin’ you like, sweetheart?” Jesse’s voice, while still confident and bordering on cocky, sounds stretched thin. Hanzo very much wants to know what he sounds like when all that swaggering bravado is stripped away. 

Hanzo hums thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.” He slides his palm over Jesse’s jaw, turning his face like he’s inspecting him for defects. The cowboy laughs quietly, even as his face grows hot under Hanzo’s fingers. Now that is interesting. 

“I suppose it will have to do,” Hanzo sighs, playing at resignation. He eases the gentle pressure of his hand, but Jesse keeps his head tilted to the side, an open invitation. Hanzo presses one more kiss to his waiting mouth before trailing down his chin and towards his jaw. Tips of chestnut hair tickle at Hanzo’s nose as he finds his way to the hinge of Jesse’s jaw. He gasps sweetly when Hanzo latches on, sucking gently to start off with. The dragons writhe at the feeling of Jesse’s pulse beneath his mouth, beneath his teeth. He wants to sink his teeth in, pin Jesse down and taste blood and make him cry out. He holds himself back. The last thing he wants to do is scare Jesse away. Instead, he settles for brushing his fingers through the hair at the nape of Jesse’s neck. 

“Ow!” 

Hanzo jolts back so fast that Jesse’s fingers catch on his hair. It hardly registers. “Are you alright?” 

Jesse laughs a bit. Now that Hanzo’s pulled back, he can see the pretty flush that’s settled over his cheeks, his spit-shined lips and the way his tongue darts out to wet them. “Ain’t nothin’, doll. You just gave me a little static shock, is all.” 

Hanzo looks down at his hand. He knows very well that it isn’t just static. As the spirit dragons within him stir, they send waves of energy through his body. At the height of their power, when they’re drawing enough energy to manifest physically, cracks of lightning strong enough to produce thunder swirl around his body. Hanzo doesn’t think Jesse will send the dragons that far, but he silently asks them to please keep it down. 

“My apologies,” Hanzo says, settling his arm over Jesse’s shoulder. The cowboy leans in, his smile soft but no less inviting. He hooks one hand in the fold of Hanzo’s yukata, his knuckles brushing skin. He tilts his head, exposing the other side of his throat, and bats his lashes. 

“Wanna make it up to me?” 

Hanzo does not need to be asked twice. He sets to giving Jesse a twin mark on the opposite side of his neck, the hand not being used to support himself winding its way into Jesse’s hair. The cowboy opens his warm palm against Hanzo’s chest, cupping gently and brushing his thumb against a nipple. Hanzo inhales sharply as heat melts down his spine, inadvertently tightening his fists. Jesse makes a sweet, quiet sound in the back of his throat when his hair is pulled, and Hanzo is surprised enough to pull back a bit. Surprisingly, the cowboy’s eyes narrow in a momentary wince. 

Hanzo pulls back, sliding his fingers out of Jesse’s hair. The cowboy starts forward like he wants to say something. His face is tight with an anxiety Hanzo doesn’t quite understand. The scrunch of his brows, the worried set of his mouth, all look out of place on the cowboy’s soft face. Whatever is bothering him, Hanzo knows he can take Jesse’s mind off of it. The heir slides one hand over Jesse’s forearm and brushes a comforting thumb over his wrist. “There is not enough room out here.”

Jesse’s mask of anxiety breaks, and when he smiles it’s like whatever shadow had passed over him never existed. When they shift away from each other, Hanzo misses the warmth of Jesse’s skin immediately. Once the cowboy is steady on his feet, Hanzo hooks his fingers in the loops of his belt and pulls him closer. Jesse goes easily, following Hanzo’s lead and leaning down when the heir brings one hand up to press against the back of his head. When their lips meet, it feels as natural as stepping up to the line on the shooting range. 

The short walk to his room is made considerably longer and more arduous when their tongues are down each other’s throats, but it’s worth it to make it work. By the time they’ve stumbled to his bedroom door, Hanzo’s tangled his hand so thoroughly in the hair at the nape of Jesse’s neck that he’s pretty sure he’ll need to cut it free, but it hardly matters. He slides the door open with his free hand, and Jesse pulls back.

“Woah there, I don’t gotta complete some mythical challenge? You’re just gonna let me in?” 

Hanzo clicks his tongue, grabbing a fistful of Jesse’s shirt. “If you continue grating my nerves, I may not.” 

“I dunno, I was expecting to have to bring you the feather off an albino hawk or somethin’, seems like we’re movin’ a little- hey now!” 

Hanzo has grown tired of the cowboy’s bloviating. He yanks Jesse inside with a force that would probably send him crashing to the floor if Hanzo wasn’t holding him up. As it is Jesse stumbles into him, his hands splayed on Hanzo’s chest. The surprised look on his face softens into something fond, and Jesse returns his fingers to their soft searching underneath the fold of his yukata. “You’re an impatient one, ain’t ya’?” 

Hanzo releases his grip on the front of Jesse’s shirt, smoothing it over and casually working the buttons of it open. “I know what I want, and I see no reason to let anything delay me from my goal. Even your bluster.” 

Jesse laughs quietly, his hands moving to push the fabric from Hanzo’s shoulders in a way the cowboy probably thinks is subtle. “You sayin’ you want me, Shimada?” 

Hanzo finishes working his way down Jesse’s shirt. It falls open to reveal a torso pocked with scars and decorated with tattoos. His eye immediately goes to the golden rings through each of Jesse’s nipples. Those are going to be fun. Hanzo slides his hands over the cowboy’s hips, and drags his gaze back up to his eyes. There’s a touch of uncertainty in them. “Yes,” He answers Jesse’s teasing with open honesty. “Very much.” 

Jesse makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, and surges forward. As surprised as Hanzo is by the sudden move, Jesse lets him take back control. They end up turned around so Hanzo’s back is towards the door, and Jesse takes them backwards until his legs hit the foot of the bed. Jesse takes a moment to grab his hat off his head and toss it on Hanzo’s desk before falling back on the bed and pulling Hanzo on top of him. 

Hanzo steadies himself with one knee between Jesse’s legs. He kisses his way down Jesse’s neck, and leans his weight on one arm so he can use the other to tug gently at one of the rings. That makes Jesse’s breath hitch, so Hanzo sucks one last bruise into his skin before moving down his chest. He circles his tongue around the nipple once before taking it into his mouth. 

Jesse whines, his hand coming up to clutch at the back of Hanzo’s head. He doesn’t pull, which Hanzo appreciates. The metal in his mouth clicks against Hanzo’s teeth, and when he pulls it gently Jesse breathes out a harsh curse. When Hanzo pinches the other nipple, he sucks in a shuddering breath. The sweetness with which Jesse surrenders is addictive, and all Hanzo wants to do is take as much as Jesse will give him. 

“Shoot, darlin’.” Jesse’s voice is pitched up, and has taken on a breathy quality that makes Hanzo look up. The cowboy is flushed from his ears to his chest, and his eyes are glassy. He smiles when they make eye contact, and loosens his fingers to pet through Hanzo’s hair. “I ain’t done it this way in a while. ‘S fun.” 

Hanzo pushes himself up so he can look down at Jesse. “What do you mean?” 

That same shadow of doubt from before passes over Jesse’s face. “Uh, forget it. Go back to what you were doin’, just ignore me.” 

Hanzo gives his nipple another pinch, much harder than the first time. Jesse gasps and shouts. “Fuck! What was that for?”

“Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

Jesse purses his lips like he’s put out by the pinch. But the way his eyes slide to the side make it obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about whatever nerve had just been hit. Which makes Hanzo want to pry it out of him all the more. He fixes Jesse with the “you’re going to tell me what you did” stare that’s worked on Genji since they were children.

“Ain’t nothin’ that’s bothering me,” Jesse starts, stroking his fingers through the ends of Hanzo’s hair and focusing on that instead of his eyes. “It’s just- when I’m in the sheets with someone, they usually expect me to be more… Assertive, than I really like to be. But most the time I just go with it, ‘cause it’s easier. But that don’t mean it’s what I like, y’know?” 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. The hand that had pinched Jesse comes up to pet over his cheek. He leans into Hanzo’s palm, finally meeting his eyes with a sweet, open stare. Hanzo can’t help it. He dips down to kiss Jesse’s waiting mouth. “What do you like, Jesse?” 

He asks it between kisses, but when he goes in for another one Jesse turns his face to the side. He’s blushing, and his mouth is twisted up in an embarrassed smile. Hanzo noses at the hinge of his jaw. He drops his voice, trying to inject it with some of that honey-sweet drawl that comes naturally to Jesse. “Come now, darlin’. You can tell me. Come on, sweetheart.” 

It sounds horribly stilted coming out of his mouth, but Jesse laughs out loud and turns to face him. “Alright, alright, ‘slong as you promise never to do that again.” 

“What, you don’t think I’d blend in down South, pardner?” 

Jesse puts his hand against Hanzo’s chest, almost like he’s about to push the heir off of him. He seems to think better of it after a second, and he settles for brushing one side of Hanzo’s yukata off his shoulder. “It’s been a real long time since I was with anyone who wanted to take charge, ‘m not sure I even know what I like. I just know I like gettin’ bossed around some. Like I said, it’s been a while.” 

Hanzo hums thoughtfully. Jesse is always so polite and considerate, it’s difficult to see him being an aggressive, dominant force. This entire time, he’s allowed Hanzo to take the lead, waiting for him to take everything to the next step. Being in charge comes so naturally to him, Hanzo hadn’t even noticed. 

“That ain’t a problem, is it?” Jesse’s teeth are worrying at the corner of his lip, and the easy tone he’s trying to put in his voice is betrayed by the furrow between his brows. Hanzo smiles down at him, brushing a hand through his hair. 

“I would not have you any other way, Jesse.” 

The tension in the cowboy’s face melts, and he reaches up to circle his arms around Hanzo’s shoulders. “Well, ain’t you just the tom-cat’s kitten?” 

Hanzo throws him a smile before leaning down to get his mouth back on Jesse’s nipple. This time, Jesse makes no attempt to stifle himself- when Hanzo sucks, he whines. When Hanzo pinches, he curses softly. The hand not petting through Hanzo’s hair toys with the hem of his yukata, fingertips skating over his thigh and making Hanzo shiver. 

After a few moments like that, Jesse’s hand in his hair moves to his chin, gently tilting it up to pull him away from where he’s trying to imprint the feeling of the gold on his tongue. “Sugar, can you- I been thinkin’ about what you look like under them button-downs for weeks, can I-” 

Hanzo nods, placing an open-mouthed kiss against Jesse’s neck before sitting up to straddle him. His yukata is already falling off each of his shoulders, so it isn’t much work to undo the belt and let the robe fall open. Jesse’s eyes widen as he takes in the dragon tattoo that twines down the left side of Hanzo’s chest, his arm, and down to his thigh. The cowboy sits up, his mouth drawn to the crease between Hanzo’s pectorals like a magnet. He holds Hanzo’s hips in his hands, tracing loving circles in the skin there.  
“This is beautiful,” Jesse breathes against his tattoo. His lips press, open and wet, against one of the twining blue bodies tattooed there. A growl that’s not entirely Hanzo’s rumbles in his throat, and in the back of his mind he respectfully asks the dragons not to make an appearance. He rests one arm on Jesse’s bare shoulder.

“Thank you. They are traditional, everyone in my family gets them when they turn sixteen.” It’s technically the truth. Hanzo’s just omitting some key details, like the ritual that accompanies the tattooing, or how the pain makes their spirits malleable and opens them up to whatever dragon (or in his case, dragons) chooses them. Going into all that would just ruin the mood. 

As he kisses and sucks his way across Hanzo’s chest, Jesse’s hands wander down. He strokes over the crease of Hanzo’s hip, draws the pads of his fingers up the insides of Hanzo’s thighs. He teases, deliberately avoiding his cock, until the heir grows frustrated. “Jesse. On with it.” 

“You made me wait a whole day, and now you wanna be impatient?” 

“I swear, I will strangle you.” 

Jesse laughs, and licks his hand. Hanzo takes the opportunity to undo Jesse’s truly gaudy belt. 

“Thought about this even before we met, y’know.” Jesse’s mouth is near Hanzo’s ear, and his voice is salacious, even as his breath hitches over the clink of his belt as Hanzo pulls it from its loops. “In person, I mean. When Ashe told me she’d set up a meeting for us with a powerful yakuza boss, I was thinkin’a some mean old man who would shoot you soon as look at ya’.” 

Hanzo pauses in undoing Jesse’s jeans to send him a smile. “You know only one of those descriptors doesn’t apply to me, right?” 

“Hush up, you know what I mean. So that’s what I was expectin’, so imagine my surprise when it turned out our meeting was with one’a the most beautiful people I ever saw. And as I got to know you, I really started likin’ you. Beyond what I saw, I mean.” 

Hanzo finally works the button and fly of Jesse’s jeans free, and thanks whatever god is listening that the cowboy wears boxers. Jesse sighs as Hanzo gently pulls his prize through the gap. When he does, it’s Hanzo’s turn to simply pause and take in the beauty before him. Jesse’s cock is longer and thicker than average, flushed prettily with blood and beading with precum at the tip. Hanzo only allows himself a few seconds to gawk, but it’s long enough for Jesse to find some of the bluster he seemed to have left in the living room. 

“Te gusta ese, carino?”

Hanzo brings his eyes back up to Jesse’s, with only a bit of reservation. His smile has regained that daring edge that he seems to wear most of the time, and that certainly won’t do. As attracted as Hanzo is to the cowboy’s cocksure nature, right now he doesn’t want Jesse coherent enough to put together a sentence, much less mouth off. The heir ghosts his fingers against the Jesse’s shaft, more the insinuation of touch than actual contact. That makes him suck in a breath, and his smile fades into something softer. 

“Were you just confessing that you have a crush on me?” 

The cowboy’s eyes roll, playing at exasperation even as they follow Hanzo’s hand on its way up to his own mouth. He licks his palm as slow as he can, waiting until Jesse’s mouth screws up in a desperate little frown to wrap his fingers around him. Jesse gives a soft, fluttery sigh.

“Wasn’t sayin’ that, exactly. I just- I dunno. I kinda lost my train of thought.” 

Hanzo moves his hand slowly, more to tease Jesse than provide any real stimulation. “Did you ever think about me while you touched yourself?” 

The question seems to catch Jesse off-guard, which is exactly what it was meant to do. The cowboy blinks, and all his bravado seems to melt away. His eyes slide down to where he’s fondling Hanzo, and he bites his lip. It takes him a moment to answer. “Uh, yeah, truth be told. Yeah. A few times. Sorry, is that weird?” 

Hanzo leans in, latching on to the spot behind Jesse’s jaw that had made him squirm before. The dragons writhe with vain pride, with the knowledge that he’d taken over Jesse’s thoughts even before they’d physically met. Jesse jerks and lets out a squeak of surprise like he’s been shocked again, but he doesn’t say anything so Hanzo figures that if he has, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Not at all. Tell me what you thought of.” 

Jesse lets out a ragged breath. Hanzo ghosts the tips of his fingers over Jesse’s head, almost tickling it with the light touch. Jesse tries for an easy chuckle, but his voice is too high and thin for it to come across with any sort of confidence. Instead, it almost sounds like a whine. “Um, the last time was a couple’a weeks ago, I think? I just thought, if we ended up gettin’ along an’ all, you might do me the honor of sittin’ on my face for an hour or three?” 

Hanzo pulls back to look Jesse in the eye. He looks sheepish, like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t be, but there’s no hint of humor in his eyes. Hanzo smiles, and leans in to lick his way back into Jesse’s mouth. The cowboy melts easily, and when Hanzo puts a hand to his chest it takes nearly no effort to push Jesse to lay down. Hanzo shifts his weight to one knee and pivots, so he’s looking down at the cowboy’s torso. He reaches down to shuffle Jesse’s jeans and boxers off his hips. Jesse kicks them the rest of the way off as he gently slides Hanzo’s yukata off his shoulders and drapes it over his hat, resting on the bedside table. 

Hanzo hears a soft gasp behind him and feels Jesse’s gentle, almost tentative hand as he palms his left cheek. The dragons twine down over his ass and stop around the inside of his thigh. Judging from his reaction, Jesse is a fan. Hanzo leans over, stroking up the underside of his cock. The expanse of skin below him is beautiful in the low light; there are a few entry wounds pocked up and down Jesse’s torso, and a long scar that looks to have come from a blade running up this right thigh like a river. On the top of his left thigh there is still more scarring, but the pale skin forms a recognizable pattern. It looks like a western-style dragon, with four legs and an open maw. A brand? Hanzo gently traces down the raised line of scarring that makes up the dragon’s back. 

“What’s this?” 

Jesse brushes his thumb over Hanzo’s hole, making the heir shiver. His other hand comes around to Hanzo’s hip and hitches him closer, close enough to pull one cheek to the side and lick a wet, warm stripe up the his taint. Hanzo hisses. It feels good, too good, so good that for a moment, he loses his train of thought. Which, of course, is exactly what Jesse had been going for. Hanzo pinches the sensitive skin over Jesse’s hip. “Out with it, McCree.”

Jesse sighs and moves up, kissing up and around Hanzo’s lower back. “How ‘bout a story for another time, honey? Takes a while to explain an’ if we wait any longer, I’m pretty sure I’ll die.” 

Hanzo scoffs and looks over his shoulder. Jesse is looking right up at him, eyes wide. The hand on Hanzo’s hip inches closer until it closes loosely around his cock, like the cowboy is worried he’ll get in trouble. Hanzo might have been inclined to act on his suspicion, if he wasn’t similarly desperate. He turns back to face forward. “Very well. You owe me a story.” 

Jesse chuckles behind him, and his mouth moves from the dip of Hanzo’s back and down to his hole. Pleasure drips down his spine as Jesse pokes and prods, alternating between broad licks with the flat of his tongue and gentle nudges with the pointed tip. Hanzo leans down, pushing himself back towards Jesse’s mouth and providing himself some much-needed friction against Jesse’s stomach. Jesse is clearly experienced, and there’s a part of Hanzo that just wants to stay here, ride Jesse’s face and take his pleasure. But his pride balks at the notion. He is not selfish, and Jesse is not the only one here with experience. Hanzo can take whatever the cowboy has to offer, and return it to him twofold. 

Hanzo tosses his hair over one shoulder and leans down fully, his chest pressed against Jesse’s belly. His palm is dry, but instead of licking it again Hanzo runs his tongue up the shaft, and sucks Jesse’s head into his mouth. The cowboy groans like he’s just lowered himself into a hot bath.The corner of Hanzo’s mouth quirks up in as much of a grin as he can manage, and he sinks down lower. Jesse keens when Hanzo returns his hand, this time to squeeze gently at his balls. 

Hanzo sighs and hums in his throat as Jesse slowly slides his tongue into him. There’s no stretch, no edge of pain that accompanies fingers or a cock. But it’s warm, and wet, and when Jesse swirls his tongue in a small circle Hanzo wiggles his hips back. When Hanzo presses the tip of his tongue against Jesse’s slit, he bucks his hips up. Hanzo uses his free hand to force the cowboy’s hip down against the mattress, and Jesse makes another high, desperate noise. 

When Jesse slides his index finger in beside his tongue, the pleasant burn Hanzo had missed makes his prosthetic toes clench. He takes Jesse down to the back of his throat, and begins slowly bobbing his head. Jesse presses his middle finger in and scissors Hanzo open, creating a small gap for him to tongue at. It’s good, stretch and burn and warm and wet. For a moment Hanzo stops moving, and all he can do is feel and moan. He presses back against Jesse’s tongue, and lets out a grunt of displeasure when Jesse pulls it out. 

“Baby, you’re so- You’re really somethin’, just as pretty as the day is long, and I-”  
Hanzo pulls back and sits up enough to look angrily back at Jesse. At least, he tries. His lips feel wet and swollen, and he can feel a flush on his cheeks. 

“Oh, do you ever stop talking? I swear, I will stuff my obi in your mouth and find release myself if you do not cease your chatter.” 

Jesse’s hips pump up against the friction of Hanzo’s hand, and he looks down just in time to see a fat bead of precum well up on Jesse’s head. He turns back over his shoulder, this time with a raised eyebrow and a smile. Jesse shrugs as best he can in his position. Hanzo files that piece of information away for later. 

“Sweetheart, you ever been to an Espanola rodeo?” 

Hanzo can see where this is going. He plays along nonetheless, letting go of Jesse’s cock and pivoting on one knee to turn and face Jesse. He props his palms on Jesse’s chest, and shuffles back to press his ass against Jesse’s cock. “I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure. Why do you ask?” 

“Well y’know, if you want, I could take you on one hell of a ride.”

Hanzo grins. Jesse’s lips are shining wet, and he looks breathless. Hanzo hooks a finger inside one of his nipple rings and applies the slightest amount of pressure, playing like he’ll pull on it. “I must say, I’m not an experienced horseman. What do I do if my mount is disobedient?” 

Jesse draws in a shuddering breath. “Well, I guess you’ll just have t’be extra hard on it, won’t you?” 

Hanzo laughs, and leans over to reach out for his bedside table. The first cupboard holds condoms and lube. He feels wet enough to go without, but he’d rather be on the safe side. He puts them on the mattress. Then, after a moment’s thought, he reaches out again. Jesse’s hat is firm, but the material it’s made from is soft against his fingers. It feels a little awkward when he puts it on, but he tilts his chin up and does his best impression of the man beneath him. “Well giddy up, pardner. Sun’s goin’ down, and we got a hard night’s ride ahead of us.” 

Jesse erupts in a belly laugh before Hanzo even finishes. Usually Hanzo does not appreciate being laughed at, but he’d meant to be funny. Jesse’s face pinches in and Hanzo can feel his stomach convulsing. Hanzo starts up too, chuckling quietly. He feels ridiculous. It’s unfamiliar, he’s never allowed himself to be ridiculous. It’s kind of nice. Jesse sits up, still laughing, and leans into kiss Hanzo deeply. They pull apart every few seconds to laugh, or kiss down each other’s necks. 

Hanzo leans back, tilting his chin up so Jesse can get at his neck. He gropes at his side for the condom and when he finds it, he quickly tears the corner open with his teeth. He shifts back, resting on Jesse’s thighs so he can fit the condom over him. Jesse slides a hand down Hanzo’s thigh and to his cybernetic ankle. He mouths at the metal and silicone, slides his tongue between the titanium tibia and fibula. Hanzo gasps. The synthetic nerve endings aren’t one-to-one replicas of a human leg, and he hadn’t wanted them to be. What was there to be gained by having another appendage that can be hurt? But he can feel pressure, and heat. Really though, it’s the image. Hanzo can’t remember a time someone had their mouth on his prosthetics. Or the last time he had a partner who touched them willingly, actually. But Jesse kisses it like it’s something beautiful. Like it’s something real. 

He finishes rolling the condom down Jesse’s cock, and slowly retracts his leg. Jesse whimpers and leans in to follow. Hanzo sidles up closer and rests his arms on Jesse’s shoulders. Jesse mouths at his bicep, sucking at the tattoo and scraping his stubble against Hanzo’s skin. “Gad night a livin’, pumpkin, you’re hotter than a June bride, I- Uh!” 

As much as he loves the praise and compliments Jesse is heaping on him, Hanzo really can’t wait any longer. He reaches behind himself, lifts up on his knees, and starts sinking down on Jesse’s cock. The cowboy’s breath punches out of him, and Hanzo watches the muscles of his abdomen as Jesse lays back down. He’s big, but this is far from Hanzo’s first time. It takes a minute or so for Jesse to bottom out, and by then the cowboy is gasping and blushing. He’s an adorable mess, which is why Hanzo is so confused when Jesse throws one arm over his face. 

Hanzo reaches over, and that causes enough shifting to make them both hiss. He gingerly takes Jesse’s wrist in hand and pulls his arm away from his face. He leans his cheek into Jesse’s palm and kisses the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, why would you want to hide such a handsome face from me?” 

That crease from before forms between Jesse’s eyebrows. “I’m just, I’m not used to doin’ it this way, I guess. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, real nice. But I’m not used to feeling this… Open. Vulnerable.” 

Jesse turns his face to the side, pressing his shy smile against the pillow as best he can. Hanzo lets him have that. He drops Jesse’s hand, but laces their fingers together. His other hand he sets on Jesse’s chest, and he uses that anchor point to start moving his hips. They groan in harmony, Hanzo tossing his head back and Jesse arching beneath him, drawn taut like a bowstring. Jesse’s free hand comes to Hanzo’s cock like an instinct, like a magnet to metal. He’s already slick with precome, so the slide is wet and filthy.

“Eres tan bello,” Jesse breathes out, his voice tight. Hanzo drops down on his elbow so he’s hovering over Jesse, his breath coming in pants as he works his hips back. 

“Que hermosa flor del desierto,” Hanzo replies, tangling his hand in the closest strands of hair fanned out on the pillow. Jesse’s eyes widen, and a shudder shakes through him. He snaps his hips up with a grunt, like he just can’t help himself. Pleasure crackles up his spine as Jesse hits his prostate, and Hanzo gasps. Jesse does it again, and Hanzo digs his nails into the back of the man’s hand. When opens his eyes, he sees blue in the corner of his vision. His fingers, knotted in Jesse’s hair, are sending off small sparks. Jesse doesn’t seem to notice, and for that Hanzo is grateful. There’s something about Jesse that is driving the dragons wild with desire, and he has no idea what it could be. Hanzo resolves to ask them about it later, but prays that they’ll hold themselves back from taking physical form. The last thing they need is Jesse running out of his quarters screaming. 

“Fuck, sugar-!” Jesse’s voice is a high whine, and he cuts himself off with a gasp as his hips pick up speed, seemingly of their own volition. Hanzo barely has to move anymore, but he’ll be damned if Jesse ends up doing most of the work. He meets the cowboy thrust for thrust, until sweat beads on both of their brows and their chests are heaving. 

“My,” Hanzo marvels, brushing his hand through Jesse’s hair. It’s damp. “What a feral mount I have. What am I to do?”

Jesse laughs, breathy and high. “Back home, we- Unh! We put the stallions on a long rope. They feel like they got all the space in the world, so they- Fuck! They run themselves ragged." Jesse lets out a wavery gasp as Hanzo twists his hips down. He's obviously struggling to keep his voice steady. The knowledge that he's robbing Jesse McCree, the man with a tongue as quick as his draw, of his words makes something proud swell up in Hanzo's chest. "T-then you reel ‘em in when they’re all tuckered out, and there’s nothin’ they can do about it.” 

“Is that what you are, Jesse? My stallion? Something I have to ride into the ground before it can even think straight?”

Jesse sucks in a breath. The rhythm of his hips stutter, and then takes on an uneven staccato. He’s close, Hanzo must have hit a nerve. He returns his hand to Jesse’s chest, palm over his pounding heart as he pinches and plays with Jesse’s nipple. “It makes sense, as oversexed as you are. But don’t worry. Te domesticaré, no importa lo que cueste.” 

It’s like firing an arrow. There’s a moment of tension, neither of them breathe and the world comes down to the pinpoints of Jesse inside him, Jesse’s hand around him. And then Jesse collapses back into the bed, gasping and shaking. Hanzo leans down to kiss him through it, though it’s really more breathing against each other as Jesse lets out soft little “uh, uh, uh” sounds. His heart races wildly. At some point Jesse slips his fingers out of Hanzo’s hand and throws his arm over the heir’s back to pull him close. Hanzo goes willingly, his own arousal ignored for the moment as he helps Jesse come down. 

Gradually, the cowboy’s heart rate slows, and his breaths become less strained. Hanzo pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. Jesse’s face his flushed, his pupils are blown and there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from where he’d squeezed them shut. His lips are bitten red. He’s beautiful. 

Slowly, carefully, Hanzo reaches behind himself and lifts himself up. Jesse slides out of him with only a slightly gross noise, and Hanzo deftly shucks off the condom. He ties it off without looking, and tosses it over his shoulder to the wastebasket in the corner. 

“Aw, ‘m sorry baby.” Jesse sighs. Hanzo turns his attention back to the man, head tilted. What Jesse could possibly be apologizing for? He follows the man’s gaze. Jesse’s staring at his cock, hard and wet and flushed with blood. When Hanzo looks back at him, Jesse’s pouting. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly ‘a me, was it? You shoulda had yours first.”

Hanzo shakes his head. “Think nothing of it. You were- are beautiful, Jesse McCree. It was my pleasure.” 

Jesse laughs self consciously, and covers his face with one hand. Hanzo lets him this time, preoccupied as he is with gently batting the other’s hand away from his cock and replacing it with his own. Jesse peeks out through his fingers. His eyes follow as Hanzo begins working over his cock, finally prioritizing his own pleasure now that Jesse’s sated. Hanzo shuffles up Jesse’s torso, coming to straddle his ribcage. His thighs tense and work, and gradually Jesse’s hand comes down from his face. He props himself up on his elbows, mouth open and tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches. 

“Raise my rent, if you ain’t the hottest thing this side of- Well, we’re pretty far from the Mississippi. Pretend I said some important Japanese river.” Jesse reaches out, drawing the tips of his fingers up the inside of Hanzo’s thigh and fondling his balls. The slight pressure makes Hanzo keen, and he tilts his chin back. The ends of his hair brush the tops of Jesse’s knees. 

“C’mon, baby.” Jesse murmurs, his free hand coming to rest on the curve of Hanzo’s hip. The cowboy is wincing every time Hanzo tenses, his softening cock still inside buried inside the heir. Despite the obvious overstimulation, Jesse doesn’t try to pull away. Not like Hanzo would let him if he did. “C’mon, sweetheart. Aim like yours, bet y’could get it on my face from there, huh?” 

Hanzo hisses at the thought, heat pooling in the backs of his knees. It’s the illusion of claiming, of ownership. Jesse won’t ever be his, but the offer to play pretend for a while sends the dragons right off again. Hanzo brings his free hand to the side of Jesse’s face, thumb pressing against his bottom lip. Jesse grins. “You like that, darlin’? Wanna mark me up, wanna make me yours? C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” 

Hanzo grunts, trying not to let his eyes close as he works himself closer and closer to the edge. Jesse’s hair is curling out at the tips, creating a messy halo. It’s static electricity- Hanzo knows his hair must be doing the same, but Jesse either doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything. Hanzo decides to worry about it later. He has more pressing matters to attend to. 

Jesse leans into his hand, his stubble scrapes against the calluses on Hanzo’s palm. He parts his lips, a clear invitation. He paints such a pretty picture beneath Hanzo- willing submission, sweet surrender. A powerful man in his own right, offering himself up to Hanzo on a silver platter. 

He can feel his orgasm coming from a mile away. It builds at the base of his spine, a string drawing tight in his gut. His voice drops to a growl in his throat, a constant current underneath Jesse’s gentle, breathless urging. His hand is a blur over his cock, he’s hurtling towards the cliff. Then he gasps, his synthetic toes curl and his balls draw up. It takes a concentrated effort to keep his eyes open as he comes, but it’s worth it to watch. The first streak of white hits Jesse’s chin, and then his lips, and then Jesse closes his right eye as the final gob cuts across his eyelid and brow. 

Hanzo catches his breath and looks down. The man below him is a mess, hair sticking out every which way, sweat beading at his forehead, come cooling on his skin. Without thinking, Hanzo reaches out and swipes his thumb through the mess. Jesse smiles like he already knows where this is going, and closes his lips around the digit to lick the come off. With his free hand, Hanzo reaches out for the edge of the blanket. He pulls it up and wipes carefully at the cowboy’s eye. 

“Shit, sugar.” Jesse sighs when Hanzo pulls his thumb away. “That really was somethin’.” 

Hanzo chuckles and slides off Jesse’s torso. He doesn’t want to run the risk of damaging Jesse’s hat, so he takes it off and places it carefully back on the bedside. Jesse takes the opportunity to settle his hands on Hanzo’s waist, and leans up to kiss a line down his stomach. “Do me a favor, sweetheart? Hand me my pants?” 

The warmth in his gut quickly cools and hardens into something apprehensive. As he kisses the top of Jesse’s head and turns to do what was asked, Hanzo realizes why. He doesn’t want Jesse to leave, not yet. He grits his teeth as he leans over the foot of the bed to grab Jesse’s blue jeans. Why is he so sensitive? It’s not like this is any different from any of the other men he’s slept with. Usually it’s the opposite, he’s trying to hustle his partners out the door as diplomatically as possible so he can get some last-minute work done. He decides it must be the strange liking the dragons have taken to Jesse. That’s all. 

“Damn, I’m pretty sure this is the best view in Hanamura. Do the travel agencies know about this?” 

Hanzo looks over his shoulder, trying to fix Jesse with a mean gaze. It’s hard when he’s smiling. He tosses the jeans over, sending the seat flying into Jesse’s smiling face. The cowboy laughs as he sits up, and Hanzo lays down beside him. He wants to reach out, touch Jesse in some way. But if Jesse is getting ready to leave, Hanzo will be damned if he turns in to a clingy mess. So he lays on his side, elbow on a pillow and head propped in his hand. 

He watches as Jesse fishes around in one of his back pockets. The cowboy pulls out a packet of matches and a hand-rolled joint. Hanzo despises the happy little thrill that shoots through him as Jesse leans back against the headboard, getting comfortable. The cowboy strikes a match off his belt buckle, then tosses his pants to the side. Once it’s lit, he passes the other end to Hanzo. 

“What a gentleman.”

“What can I say? Mommas raised me right.” 

Hanzo takes a draw, feeling the burn down his throat and in his chest. He holds it, then lets it out in slow exhale. He only smokes when he has time to go out to one of his family’s clubs, which means not as often as he’d like.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Jesse reaches out to take the blunt, his eyes dark. Sweat shines on his cheekbones, his skin almost glows in the low light of the lamp and the moon outside. He makes quite the picture. If painting were one of the many skills he possessed, Hanzo might tell him to stay where he is so he can capture the moment. As it is, the heir settles for twining a strand of chestnut hair around his finger. 

“That depends.” 

“On what?” The words are accompanied by lazy curls of smoke. 

“Well, you could ask me a question I don’t know the answer to. You could ask me how many stars there are in the universe, or how one pins a wave upon the sand.” 

“Did you really just quote ‘The Sound of Music’ at me? What kinda pillow talk are you used to?” 

“Or you could ask me something I do know the answer to, but that I can’t tell you. Like something private about my family, or our business.” 

Jesse lets out a loud laugh, and shakes his head. “Man, do you ever stop thinking about business? I just gave you the ride of your life, and you’re ready to talk about suppliers and bases of operation.” 

Hanzo narrows his eyes, and takes the joint out of Jesse’s mouth. “So that was what you were going to ask me?” 

Jesse gives a dramatic sigh. “No. Well, not technically. It could be a question you know the answer to, but don’t wanna tell me. Dependin’ on the answer.” 

Hanzo moves his hand from Jesse’s hair to pinch at his nipple, if for no other reason than to enjoy the cowboy’s yelp of pain and ensuing blush. He gives the blunt back as an apology. “Out with it, then.” 

Jesse looks uncharacteristically bashful. He bites his lip, and from the way his eyes flick down towards the foot of his bed, Hanzo can already guess about the nature of his question before he asks it. “Well, I’ve seen my fair share of prosthetics, an’ I know they ain’t no aesthetic choice. So, what’s the story?” 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. He already knows that he won’t mind sharing the story- the entirety of Japan’s underworld already knows it, anyway. But if he just came out with it, then there would be nothing to milk. “That’s a very personal story.”

Jesse leans in, clearly intrigued. He even hands the smoke back. “Come on, sugar. I’ll give you a freebie, you can ask me anything you want. Equal trade.” 

Hanzo purses his lips, playing at considering the offer. “Do I get to ask my question first?” 

Jesse shakes his head, and rolls onto his back so he’s looking up at the ceiling. He’s still smiling. “Alright, alright.”

Hanzo rolls over, onto his stomach. He crosses both arms and props them up so he can lay his head on them. He looks over at Jesse. Jesse turns his head slightly to look over at him. He wants to ask about the brand on the cowboy’s thigh. It must be an interesting story. But Jesse had sounded hesitant, and Hanzo doesn’t think he’s ever heard of a brand that was gotten by choice. The last thing he wants to do is trigger a bad memory. So he settles for a safer question, but something he’s no less curious about. 

“Why do you pretend to be dumber than you are?”

Jesse blinks, and though he tries to hide it, Hanzo can see that he’s set Jesse back on his spurs. After a few seconds of silence, the cowboy chuckles. “Real straight-shooter, ain’t ya’?” 

“I think I more than proved that yesterday. Answer the question.” 

Jesse blows out a sigh through his nose. “Can’t say I know what you mean, darlin’.” 

“That.” Hanzo reaches out again, and this time pinches Jesse’s arm. “That right there is what I’m talking about. You lean in to the whole… Dumb American thing.” 

“Back home, we call ‘em ‘hicks’ or ‘rednecks.’” 

“You’re obviously a smart man. Why do you play into that whole thing?” 

Jesse takes the smoke back when Hanzo offers it. He thinks for a second, takes one draw off the joint. “It’s the best way I can fly under people’s radar, I guess. They think Ashe is the brains and I’m the brawn, on account’a my shootin’. If they keep thinkin’ that, they start lettin’ shit fly when I’m around and she’s not. ‘Cause they think I don’t know what they’re talkin’ about. ‘Cause I’m just some dumb hick from the middle’a nowhere that’s good with a revolver.” 

Jesse’s voice has hardened to a vitriolic sarcasm, and he lets out a bitter laugh. It’s clear that he doesn’t like the idea of being underestimated. Hanzo can’t blame him. If he had to play dumb most of his life to get ahead, he’s pretty sure he’d go insane. 

Jesse’s brows have furrowed, and his usually-smiling mouth is set in a hard frown. It doesn’t look right. Hanzo reaches out and brushes the pads of his fingers against Jesse’s cheek. The cowboy turns his head to look over at him. 

“You deserve more credit than I gave you, Jesse McCree. You had me fooled as well, for a time. I wondered how you got to where you are. But I realize now- you are smarter than all of them. They will keep underestimating you, and you will keep winning.” 

Jesse’s face instantly softens back to its natural state. An easy smile spreads over his lips, and he looks down at his lap. “Yeah,” he rumbles out, his voice returned to its normal gentle, molasses-sweet quality. “I like that.” 

The cowboy takes a deep breath. Then his chocolate eyes flick open, and they are once again filled with the mirth Hanzo is more accustomed to. “Alright, there’s my answer. Now it’s your turn.” 

Hanzo rolls over onto his back, and cushions his head on his crossed arms. Jesse inches closer, obviously excited. It was strange, to have to actually tell it. Most of the people he interacted with had been alive when it had happened, or had been told the story by those who were. There wasn’t a person in the Japanese underworld who did not know what happened. He can’t remember the last time he actually had to tell the whole thing to someone with no background knowledge. 

“For most of our family’s history, our rivals have been the Abe clan. They rose to power around the same time we did, and for generations we fought for customers, land, influence, everything. This was the case when I was born, and remained so until I was three years old. My father was here dealing with business while my mother, Katsumi, and I were vacationing in Hokkaido. She was heavily pregnant with Genji, so she was trying to relax as much as she could in the last month of her term. 

I don’t remember much of what happened, but the Abe family found out where we were staying in Hokkaido. They took out the guards that had accompanied us, and took us to a small, remote estate in the middle of a forest. They kept us in a single room, and for a week gave us only a bowl of rice and a cup of water per day. Then, the head of the Abe family arrived. He had demanded that my father give up a heavy chunk of our territory, and access to our partners in the political world. He had refused, so Abe began upping the stakes. The first day, he sent my father a chunk of my mother’s hair, cut by his own sword. My father refused. The next, he sent the tip of her pinky finger, again, cut by his own sword. Again, my father refused. Then, on the third morning... “ 

Hanzo trails off. This is a part of the story he’s never told anyone, and he’s not sure how to go about it. Jesse, taking his silence for being overcome with grief, rolls over onto his side and stretches one arm out to drape over Hanzo’s waist. Hanzo tenses for a moment, ready to shove the offending appendage off. He’s the Shimada heir, he doesn’t need comforting. But, even if he doesn’t need it, he can’t quite bring himself to shove the kind gesture off. Instead, while he continues, Hanzo traces the lines of the Deadlock tattoo etched into Jesse’s forearm. 

“I don’t remember much. Abe dragged me out of our room by my hair, and down the hall, out of my mother’s sight but not her range of hearing. I remember she was crying, and that made me cry. I was scared. I tried to fight, but one of his men held me down. I could hardly move. I saw the glint of his sword, rising over his head. And then-” 

Hanzo brings the blade of his hand down gently on Jesse’s arm. When Hanzo looks to his side, the cowboy’s eyes are wide, and he’s propped up on his elbow so he can lean forward. He supposes the idea is grisly, for someone who hasn’t been living with it for twenty years. “What happened then?” Jesse’s voice is hushed, but urgent. Hanzo smiles. 

“This is the boring part, I’m afraid. I passed out. When I came to it was night, and my mother was shaking me awake. They’d bandaged my legs; I imagine they would have sent my arms next, and then my head. After, I learned that they threatened to cut Genji from my mother’s womb if my family did not comply. When I woke I was still groggy from blood loss, but my mother was insistent. Outside I heard fighting, gunfire, and the clash of swords. There were feet pounding, and then our door was thrown open. I clung to her, expecting the worst. And then, my father gathered me up in his arms.” 

Hanzo smiles fondly. He can’t remember a time, before or since, that he’d witnessed Sojiro Shimada cry. “He took my mother and I outside. By the time we were outside the compound, our soldiers had taken care of the guards. Only Abe himself remained. He was on his knees in the grass, facing the head of our guard. As we approached, my mother held out her hand. My father gave her his sword. He pressed my head to his chest, so I didn’t see. But the guards that were there said that the sweep of her sword was so clean, his head balanced on his severed neck until his body was kicked to the ground.” 

Jesse is silent. For a few moments they just breathe, Jesse digesting the story and Hanzo waiting for a reaction. The farther out the silence stretches, the heavier the pit that’s forming in Hanzo’s stomach grows. He’s fought all his life not to be seen as a burden, to succeed above and beyond what anyone expected of him, all so he can command the respect that should be his birthright. If Jesse starts treating him differently after hearing his story, Hanzo will have to kick him out himself. 

“How long’d it take you to get used to the prosthetics?” 

The tension in Hanzo’s gut dissipates so quickly, he laughs out loud. No one had ever asked him such a point-blank question, which he supposes is fitting for a sharpshooter like McCree. If they did ask, his partners usually danced around the subject. Not only were they worried about offending him on a personal level, but more pressingly, offending the heir of a yakuza family could have dire consequences. But Jesse seemed to know just how far to push, just how personal to get. And, even stranger, he seemed to trust that even if Hanzo were offended, he wouldn’t get him in trouble. Hanzo is used to a lot of things, but trust has never been one of them. 

“I started using them when I was eight. My parents wanted me to learn how to get around and take care of myself without them first. Genji was five at the time, and the first time he saw me walk, he cried for fear.” Jesse laughs heartily, so hard that he can’t support himself on his elbow. He twists forward and leans his forehead on Hanzo’s shoulder, his whole body shaking. The cowboy’s laugh is infectious, and Hanzo can’t help but join in. 

“He was so scared! He’d never seen me stand, I don’t think it had occurred to him that I was supposed to. So he saw me, doing this terribly unnatural thing, and when I walked towards him he just burst into tears!”

Now they’re both laughing. Hanzo can’t tell if it’s because the story is particularly funny, or if they’re just high, or if Jesse’s laughing at his laughing and he’s laughing at Jesse’s laughing. Somehow, the arm that was draped over Hanzo’s waist ends up propped up by his head, and Jesse is hovering over him, filling up his vision. His eyes are honestly twinkling, his smile as broad as the New Mexico horizon. In the low light of the room he shines like the sun. 

Hanzo slings an arm around Jesse’s neck, and surges up to taste the man’s honey-sweet laughter. Jesse goes easily, smiling against Hanzo’s mouth. The kiss is slow and lazy, more a simmering heat than a raging fire. Hanzo brings one hand to smoothe over Jesse’s shoulder, and the other to card through his hair. It’s nice, so Hanzo is somewhat surprised when the cowboy pulls away. He looks nervous, and it doesn’t fit well on his gentle features. Hanzo brushes a thumb over his cheek. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Jesse chuckles, and it has a nervous edge to it. “I’m just thinkin’. Would it be too much to ask to stay the night? I don’t know if you’re much for cuddlin’, but. I kinda don’t wanna leave.” 

Hanzo blinks, taken by surprise. On one hand, the request is simple. Innocent, even. But at the same time, it’s incredibly disarming. 

Jesse, taking his pause for reluctance, visibly winces and begins detangling his limbs from Hanzo’s. “O’course, if it’s any imposition, I can be on my way. I’m sure you gotta get up early tomorrow, I wouldn’t wanna-” 

Hanzo clicks his tongue. He uses the hand still loosely held in Jesse’s hair to yank the cowboy back down onto his palms. He shuts up immediately, and looks down at Hanzo with a nervous but somewhat hopeful smile. 

“I do not want you to leave either,” Hanzo starts, brushing past a sudden tug of nerves with a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve just never spent the night with anyone. So you may stay, but don’t blame me if I snore.” 

There’s a flash of relief on Jesse’s face, followed by confusion. The cowboy pushes off his hands, but settles back on his knees to straddle Hanzo’s waist. “Wait. You mean you’ve never slept in the same bed as someone? Not even for sleepovers or nothin’?” 

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how familiar you are with prosthetics, but they are not exactly comfortable to sleep in. Do you really think my parents wanted me in that position?” 

Jesse hums thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense. Still, it’s nice, at least I think so. Feelin’ like you got someone at your back. Safety in numbers, and all that.” 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. “Only if you trust whoever you are with.”

Jesse chuckles and shakes his head. “I guess so, yeah.” 

They hold each other’s gazes. For a few heartbeats, something unspoken passes between them. Whatever it is, it fills Hanzo’s chest with something warm. It keeps filling, until it feels like it may crush him. Hanzo is the first to break eye contact. He pinches the side of Jesse’s thigh, eliciting a jolt and a yelp. 

“Get off.” 

“Not sure I’m up for round two tonight, darlin’. Come back tomorrow morning.” 

Hanzo tries to smother the smile fighting its way onto his face. “You know what I mean, you degenerate. I have a routine, your presence here will not interrupt that.” 

Hanzo leaves for the en suite. He brushes his teeth, cleans and moisturizes his skin, brushes his hair and puts it in a braid. He skips a few steps, not that he’s rushing to get back to Jesse. It’s just late. When he returns, Jesse has commandeered one of his yukata. It lays open and untied, red silk pooling over the curve of his hip and falling over his chest. Hanzo clicks off the lamp and settles on the mattress. 

“What’re those fans over there on the wall?” 

“Traditionally, they’re used to cool one off on hot days.” 

Jesse huffs. “You know what I mean! They’re obviously important.” 

“If I tell you, will you shut up and let me sleep?” 

“Cross my heart, sugar.” 

Hanzo slings one arm over Jesse’s waist. They meld together easily, Hanzo’s chest pressed against Jesse’s back. “They are antique kabuki fans. In the sixteen-hundreds kabuki was incredibly popular, and very illegal.” 

“Why?” 

“Actresses often worked as prostitutes. The shogunate tried to stop this by banning women from participating in kabuki, so theaters switched to all-male casts. These actors also worked as prostitutes, but by then the theater was too popular with the people for any ban to really be effective. The Shimadas began as a kabuki troupe, and the theater became a front for our business as we became more involved with the underworld. Those fans are from the early eighteen-hundreds.” 

Jesse is quiet for a moment. Hanzo almost closes his eyes, but of course it isn’t that easy. “Y’know any dances? Any songs?” 

“You said you’d be quiet.” 

“C’mon, my curiosity is killin’ me.” 

Hanzo sighs. “Yes, I do. I’ve been tutored in the form and history since I was a child.” 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” 

Hanzo sits up. He grabs a pillow and fits it over Jesse’s face. The cowboy laughs, muffled, and Hanzo presses down harder. “If I have to smother you to get some sleep, I will.” 

“Okay, okay! I’ll shut up.” 

Hanzo removes his pillow. Jesse’s face glows in the dim light of the moon. As he lays back down, Hanzo wishes he could be mad. But when he returns to Jesse’s back, and his nose fills with the smell of tobacco and smoke and whatever pine-y shampoo the cowboy uses, he can’t help but grin. 

When he sleeps, he dreams. He dreams of a broad expanse of desert, of a blue sky and red earth and a stretch of orange flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Te gusta ese, carino?"- "Do you like that, sweetheart?"  
> “Eres tan bello,”- "You are so beautiful,"  
> "Que hermosa flor del desierto,"- "What a beautiful desert flower,"  
> "Te domesticaré, no importa lo que cueste."- "I will tame you, no matter what it takes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear reader!
> 
> Thank you all for waiting. This chapter was a little tough to write, I'm sorry there was such a long delay between the last chapter and this one! Fight scenes are surprisingly hard for me to write, I'll have to practice those more. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up sometime in the next few weeks now that we're done with the setup and in the plot proper, but when does that ever work out? 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading. I hope ya'll enjoy.

Jesse wakes up slow. His eyes bat open to a sunlit room. He stretches his arms above his head, and sighs when he hears something in his spine pop. He feels rested after the best night of sleep he’s had since he got here, and every muscle is relaxed after one of the best fucks he’s had in recent memory. He heaves a happy sigh, drinking in the sunlight streaming through the window on his right. He rolls over onto his side, Hanzo’s light comforter twisting around his legs as he does. 

It’s not that he’s disappointed when he’s met with the empty half of the bed. He should have expected it, honestly. Hanzo doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to stay in bed after sunrise. Still, there’s a part of him that had maybe hoped for one last kiss before they went their separate ways. Oh, well. He swallows his disappointment and heaves himself out of bed. 

Jesse gets dressed quickly. He does have some actual work to do today- he and Ashe are meeting with the Shimada’s head legal counsel. Kind of ironic, that such an established crime family employs a fleet of lawyers. The stated purpose of the meeting is to hash out the nitty-gritty details of the deal; volumes of weapons per year, percentages, all the stuff that makes Ashe’s eyes light up and puts Jesse to sleep. He has to be present, though. Beyond presenting a united front, they’re also covering the kinds of training the Shimadas are going to provide to their soldiers, and that falls squarely into his purview. 

As he does up the buttons on his shirt, Jesse’s fingers trace over the marks on his chest left by Hanzo’s mouth. He doesn’t have a mirror, but he knows there are more hickeys up past what any collar will cover. That knowledge sets some animalistic satisfaction simmering in his gut. They won’t last forever, but for a while he’ll have these physical reminders of the night they spent together. 

Jesse reaches out for his hat, still on the bedside where Hanzo had left it last night. It looks just the same, save for a slip of paper resting primly on the brim. Jesse holds it between his thumb and forefinger, careful not to crumple the fine paper and neat writing. 

Jesse-   
Thank you for last night. My apologies for leaving so early. Have a pleasant day.   
H   
P.S. Do not think I’ve forgotten that you owe me a story. Perhaps we can share a drink at some point in the future. 

Jesse’s heart thuds. It’s not necessarily an invitation to another dalliance, but it is an invitation to something. He’d assumed they were playing a game, and last night had been the end. Checkmate. But apparently Hanzo shared whatever strange attachment Jesse had formed last night. Maybe they wouldn’t wind up in bed again. Jesse hardly ever had sex with someone more than once, and he’d be surprised if Hanzo had repeat lovers. Maybe the mystique was gone after last night. But Hanzo had been funny, smart, and had seen right through Jesse’s dumb hick act and cared to get to know who we was behind it. Even if they never slept together again, Jesse would be grateful just to spend another night talking with him. 

Jesse carefully folds up the note and tucks it in his back pocket. He fits his hat over his tangled hair and makes his way out of Hanzo’s quarters with a spring in his step. His whistles along with the jingle of his spurs as he walks down the winding halls that lead back to the guest quarters. The cold sun is shining, glittering off the blanket of snow on the ground. Jesse has a feeling that it’s going to be a very good day. 

His sterling mood lasts right up until he opens the door to his room. 

“Hey there, vaquero.” 

Jesse freezes in his tracks. While the bed he’d woken up in had been absent one Shimada, the bed he hadn’t has a surplus of the other. Genji’s laying on his side, naked as the day he was born and smiling like a cat in cream. 

It takes Jesse a few seconds to shake himself out of the stunned paralysis Genji had sent him into. When he does, Jesse spins on his heel to pull the door closed. What if some passerby saw? What is Genji even doing here? 

“Oh, looks like my brother really did a number on you, huh?” 

Jesse whips around. He hadn’t heard Genji get up, but all of a sudden the younger Shimada is pressed up against him, one hand reaching up to stroke at Jesse’s bruise-mottled neck. It’s hard to keep his eyes from wandering- he’s only human, after all. Genji is more lithe than his brother, but clearly no less deadly. A tattoo similar to Hanzo’s slithers down Genij’s side, green instead of blue. He doesn’t have as many scars as Hanzo, save for two thin, crescent-shaped surgical scars beneath his pecs. 

“You playin’ Deadlock bingo or somethin’?” Jesse leans as far away as he can, back pressed against the door. He keeps his hands at his sides, even as Genji reaches up to wind his arms around Jesse’s neck. 

“Maybe.” Genji’s tilts his head to the side, voice coy and eyes dancing. Jesse swallows. “You wanna be the next name I scratch off my list?” 

Jesse chews at the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to disrespect the younger Shimada by getting physical- that could not only jeopardize the deal, it could put the lives of every Deadlock member in this estate at risk. And beyond that, the last thing he ever wants to do is be rude. He prays that his silver tongue comes through for him the way it always has. 

“Shoot, Mr. Shimada. Flattered as I am that you’re so interested in lil’ ol’ me, I can’t take you up on that. Don’t seem right, you know?” 

Genji scoffs. “What, you think you and my brother are going steady now? Come on, Hanzo won’t care. He never sleeps with someone more than once, anyways.” 

That makes something in Jesse’s stomach sink. So his hunch was right, and Hanzo wasn’t the type to only graze at one pasture. Still, though. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Genji (it ain’t his fault that this is a family of supermodels,) but it wouldn’t feel right. He sets his jaw and stares down at the young Shimada, trying to communicate through body language that he’s serious. “With all due respect, the answer is no. Sorry, kid. No hard feelin’s?” 

Genji’s brows furrow, like no one’s ever told him “no” before. His face hardens, and Jesse lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He expects the Shimada to pull away, put his clothes on and leave Jesse to puzzle over this emotional rollercoaster of a morning. Instead, Genji surges forward. One hand fists in the collar of his flannel, an obvious threat. Jesse does his best to keep his breathing even. 

“I don’t like you, McCree.” His voice has done a complete flip from soft and playful to harsh in a matter of breaths. His dark eyes burn up at Jesse like embers. “And I do not like what you’re trying to do to my brother.” 

Jesse tilts his head. “And what am I tryin’ to do, exactly?” 

“You’re using him.” 

Jesse immediately opens his mouth, ready to defend his honor and ask where this little prince got off making accusations like that. Genji cuts him off, like a sword chopping through a stalk of bamboo. “Don’t try to talk your way out of this, I heard it from your own mouth.”

It takes him a moment, but then Jesse realizes. The little ninja must have followed him to his room yesterday and listened in on his conversation with Ashe. It wouldn’t have been hard to get close enough to the guards, with how Genji has every member of Deadlock wrapped around his finger. He’s really going to have to talk with their people about letting the members of an infamous assassin clan around when they’re discussing sensitive information. 

“C’mon now, don’t go off with your pistol half-cocked. I know what it sounded like, but I swear that ain’t the truth. I was just tryin’ to get Ashe off my back. I give you my word, I don’t got any ill intentions towards your brother.” 

Genji laughs, harsh and mean, and his fist tightens in the collar of Jesse’s shirt. “Your word? And what worth is that? The word of desert trash. You would sell a snake his own venom if you had half a chance.”   
“Weren’t you the one who encouraged me to go after him in the first place? Before the shootout an’ all that?” 

Jesse can see Genji’s jaw working as he grits his teeth. “That was before I heard what I heard. I don’t want you going anywhere near him, understand?” 

Jesse grits his teeth. Genji’s mind is set, and if he’s as stubborn as Hanzo there won’t be any talking him into changing his mind. If there’s nothing to be gained by sweet-talking, he supposes it’s time to dispense with the formalities. His voice is hard when he speaks, pitched low to something he knows is intimidating. “And what if I do mean to use him? What if everything you think is true, and I’m just a no-good dog out for all he can steal from your family?” Jesse leans in. “What are you gonna do about it, principito?” 

Genji blinks, taken aback for a moment. Jesse gets the distinct impression that he’s never been threatened before. Then his eyes harden and narrow, like Jesse is an obnoxious fly he intends to swat. “I could kill you right here.” 

“Somethin’ tells me your parents wouldn’t be too pleased at that.”

The bridge of Genji’s nose wrinkles as his brows draw together. “I’ll go tell Hanzo what I heard.”

“According to you, that don’t change anything. What’s the use, if he’s already done with me?” Jesse pauses, enjoying the way the kid’s face twists up in an ugly pout. “Unless there’s a chance he ain’t, in which case I really don’t think you’re in a position to lord over him the way you’re tryin’ to do me.” 

Genji scowls. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out. Jesse doesn’t think of himself as an angry man, but he sure as hell doesn’t appreciate someone telling him what to do. Especially when that someone is a spoiled yakuza prince who’s known nothing but silver spoons all his life. “You’re all hat an’ no cattle, partner. You better get to work killin’ me, or I respectfully ask you leave me to my business.”

Genji takes a moment, looking almost like he’s thinking his way through being disrespected so thoroughly. Then he releases his grip on Jesse’s collar. Jesse stays pressed against the door as Genji goes to the single chair in the room. There’s a robe draped over it, not unlike the one Hanzo had worn last night save for the color. Genji puts it on with sharp, angry movements. Jesse steps aside as he approaches the door. 

“Mark me, Jesse McCree.” Genji yanks his belt closed in a sloppy knot. His robe falls open over his chest. He draws up close again, his lips twisted in a sneer. “You’ll not go near my brother again. If you hurt him, Ashe is the last thing you’ll have to worry about.” 

And then he’s gone, in a flash of green. The door slams shut behind him. Jesse blows out a sigh and sweeps his hat off to run his fingers through his knotted hair. Christ almighty, he’s barely been here a week. How exhausting must it be to be a Shimada, and live here with all this? 

 

The meeting takes most of the afternoon, with a break for lunch in between. The offer provided by the clan’s counsel is more modest than he and Ashe had hoped; two thirds of the number of martial arts trainers they’d wanted for near twice the percentage they’d been talking about. Ashe was the numbers person- all the talk about investments and the worth of their annual takings make Jesse’s eyes glaze over. But when things start getting heated, when Ashe starts getting red in the face and it looks like she’s ready to cuss the Shimada’s head lawyer and all her omnic attendants out, Jesse leans forward in his chair. 

“If I may interject, Ms. Kame?” 

The lawyer throws a sidelong glance at Ashe. She looks tired after going around in circles for the past two hours, and grateful to have someone else speak. “Of course, Mr. McCree.” 

“Pardon my sayin’ so, but wouldn’t it make more sense for your clan to provide us with the resources we’re asking for over the next, say, five years, and from there reduce the amount of trainers and weapons you send our way? If we got a strong foundation to establish ourselves on, then we can start using our own people as combat trainers and have less need for yours. Ya’ll won’t make as much money off us in the start, but in the next ten or fifteen years, you’ll be sendin’ us fewer resources, but we’ll be givin’ you the same percentage every year. What’s more, the value of that percentage will grow as our venture becomes more and more profitable.” 

Kame steeples her fingers. “That is assuming, of course, that you continue your current trajectory. I’m not sure the family is willing to take that gamble.” 

Jesse shrugs, and throws her one of his boy-next-door smiles. “We seem to have done pretty well so far, ain’t we? Besides, with ya’lls top-notch fighters and high-quality weapons, I don’t see how we could go wrong.” 

Kame thinks on that for a moment. One of her omnics taps her on the shoulder, and she leans back so the android can press its faceplate to her ear. She smiles. 

“I will discuss this with Katsumi and Sojiro. If you can give us a more definite timeline, perhaps I can arrange for more trainers to be made available on a year-by-year basis, with reductions beginning at an agreed-upon time.” 

Ashe leans forward, obviously eager. Bless her heart, she always tries to appear neutral during meetings like this. But Ashe is hungry, and she has a hard time keeping her ambition in check. “We can make that happen. Give us a few days, I can have projections drawn up of where we’ll be asset-wise over the next few years. Do you have another time this week we could meet?” 

Again, Kame leans back so one of her attendants can speak in her ear. “Yes, I have a few hours open on Saturday.” 

“Perfect.” Ashe and Kame stand. Jesse and the omnic lawyers follow. “We’ll meet again then.” 

They shake hands, bow, and are on their way. Ashe is on her way to another meeting, this time with the with one of the Shimada clan’s head accountants. Sitting in on that would almost assuredly cause McCree to blow his brains out, and there isn’t really much reason for him to be there in the first place. So he’s on his way to the barracks, far from any talk of spreadsheets and balances. 

“Thanks for that.” 

Jesse smiles. Ashe might not be the sweetest, but they both know how well they work together. “No worries. You loosened her up for me, anyhow.” 

Beside him, Ashe huffs a laugh. “Yeah, guess I did.” A pause. Then, “You fixin’ to go see Mr. Shimada tonight?” 

“Naw, we didn’t make any plans. He lit out on me before the sun came up, the scoundrel.” It’s technically the truth. They hadn’t made any official plans, save for Hanzo’s hinting at a rendezvous sometime in the future. So he isn’t lying, just maybe not telling Ashe the whole truth. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees Ashe’s silver hair bob as she nods. “Good. Y’got it outta your system?” 

Jesse raises an eyebrow, and turns his head to look over at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Ashe looks from side to side, checking for passerby, then pulls Jesse aside. She crosses her arms. “It means I don’t think it’s a good idea to go tinkering with the affections of the future heir to this clan. We gotta play the long game here, Jess. Say it works out like you said it would, he gets sweet on you while we’re here and you leave him dangling on a string when we’re back in the States. What if his parents die in the next ten years? What if they retire? Not only will we be missin’ out on what they’ve offered to give us, but your jilted lover will be at the head of one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world. That math don’t work out, no matter how good a lay he is.” 

Jesse shrugs, doing his best to look indifferent. Ashe’s logic is sound, and they both know it. There isn’t any way he can spin this to make it sound like he’s doing the gang a favor. So he puts his hands up, an easy sign of surrender. “Ashe honey, you got nothin’ to worry about. I’m pretty sure he ain’t interested in continuing- if he was, he probably woulda stuck around at least, right?” 

Ashe’s lips purse in the way they do when she’s thinking. She nods. “I guess so. Look, I’m not trying to put a leash on you, and I know you’d probably go into withdrawals if you didn’t get your dick wet for the rest of the time we’re here. Just- Not him, okay? We can’t risk it.” 

Jesse puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know how much this means for the gang. I’ll keep a lid on it, I promise.” 

Ashe takes a breath. When he sees her face relax some, Jesse feels truly sorry for causing her more stress than she was already under. “Good. That’s good. Thanks, Jess.” 

“Don’t sweat it. You best get a move on, you’re gonna miss your next meeting.” 

As he watches her leave, Jesse feels a tug at his gut. He never meant to string Hanzo along the way he’d told Ashe he would, but he knows Ashe has a point. No matter how well he and Hanzo get along, getting too emotionally invested wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it was for the best that the next time they see each other, it really just stay at drinks. If they ever got the chance to be alone again at all. 

As he walks back to his room, the note in Jesse’s back pocket feels heavy. 

 

Three days later, Jesse’s resolve to avoid Hanzo isn’t as strong.

He’s dragged the only chair in the room beside the window. One elbow is propped up on the sill, a cigar dangling from between his fingers. It’s been a long day. They’ve been here for near two weeks, and some of their more inexperienced members are getting antsy. Ashe’s hair is permanently frizzed from how she’s been raking her hands through it, and every time they see each other the bags under her eyes seem to have darkened a shade or two. The past two nights she’s kept him up into the wee hours of the morning going over the minutiae of the deal, even those he has no experience with. If he has to hear her explain the web connecting their suppliers to the Shimadas one more time- “No Jesse, we can’t go through Chimera for ammunition anymore. There’s some bad blood between them and the clan, something about Jobasa sticking them on a deal some fifty years ago or something. They sure know how to keep a grudge, huh?”- he’s going to abdicate and fly back home to the farm.

He’s been trying to keep Ashe’s spirits up, as well as the rest of the gang. Maintaining morale is as much his job as managing the troops, especially when they’re halfway across the world and cooped up in an estate. It may be the size of a palace, but there’s only so long you could kick around it before you start getting squirrely. So Jesse’s been hosting card games and drinking nights, bringing Ashe coffee when she needs it, giving pep talks to those among them who’ve never been this far from home. He’s not bitter, it’s his job. But keeping everyone in high spirits sure was exhausting, especially when none of them knew exactly when they were going home. 

Jesse blows a ring of smoke out through the window and watches it dissipate among the light dusting of snow that’s falling. The night air is chilly, but he doesn’t want to leave behind the smell of cigars when he’s gone. He’s partial to the smell of tobacco, but he knows not everyone is. 

Somehow, the winter air reminds him of Hanzo. It carries a sharpness, a severity that puts the elder Shimada in his mind. The first time Jesse’d seen snow, he’d been eight or so. It had seemed magical to him then, but also kind of sad. He was used to the permanent- rocks, sand, the crops in his mothers’ backyard. When he’d reached out his hand to catch some of the glittering flakes, he’d expected them to accumulate. He’d wanted a handful he could take inside and stash away in some jar to look back on and remember. But they’d melted as soon as they’d touched his warm skin. 

Hanzo kind of reminded him of that. Something special, something that he wanted to hold onto. But he couldn’t. They weren’t of a kind. Hanzo was essentially royalty, and he was a farmboy. Even if they weren’t so different, their situation is more than enough to keep them apart. The more attached Jesse got, the easier it would be for Hanzo to use his feelings as leverage. Jesse might not be as baldly ambitious as Ashe, but he’d worked just as hard as she had. They’d built Deadlock out of nothing in less than five years, and they’d gotten that far by being clever and disciplined. It didn’t matter how comfortable Hanzo made him feel, or that the night they’d spent together had been the first time in years he hadn’t had to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t let himself put everything they’d worked for at risk. 

He sighs, letting the feeling of smoke in his lungs ground him. Soon they’d be back home, he could go to one of his old haunts and find someone. Someone who’s the opposite of Hanzo, someone soft and gentle and sweet. Then this whole trip would be nothing but a bittersweet memory. 

 

 

It’s another four days before anything happens. Jesse has some time to himself for what feels like the first time since they got here, so he’s spending it in his room, reading one of the several paperbacks he’d packed for the trip. He’s a hundred pages deep in The Derby Man when a soft knock sounds on his door. Jesse sighs and dog-ears the page. 

“Kassidy, I told ya’, Hunter won that game fair an’ square. Just take your lumps and pay-” When he opens his door, Jesse is not met with the face of one of his companions. It’s the smooth faceplate of one of the Shimadas’ omnics, with several glowing eyes peering up at him. Jesse’s been putting out so many small fires among his own ranks, he’s happy it’s not someone coming to him with a squabble for him to settle. 

“Shimada-san is requesting your presence, Mr. McCree.” The omnic’s voice is cheerful and tinny. Jesse curses the little flip his stomach does. 

“Which Shimada?” He almost hopes it’s Genji, calling him out for a fight. That would be less trouble. 

“Shimada Hanzo. He is in the training gym, I am to escort you there.” 

Jesse’s heart thuds in his throat. He probably shouldn’t. He’s never been a man of restraint, so the only way to not succumb to temptation is to avoid it altogether. But… It would be rude to refuse, right? And they can’t afford to insult such an influential member of the family. And he is the diplomatic arm of Deadlock, after all. Hanzo probably didn’t want another roll in the hay, or he would have sought Jesse out before this. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Well, I guess we better get to gettin’. Lead the way, partner.” 

 

The omnic leaves him at the large double doors with a polite bow. Jesse takes a deep breath and pushes one open just far enough to slip through. Across the room Hanzo is working a training dummy, striking out with quick punches and kicks. He’s stripped down to a pair of thin pants. Even from this far away, Jesse’s heart aches. He knows the calluses of those hands, the power in his thighs. He knows, and he wants. 

Putting on as unaffected an air as he can, Jesse saunters over to the edge of the mat. Hanzo bobs and weaves past imaginary fists. A few strands of hair have come loose from his low ponytail, and they float behind him as he moves. Jesse leans against a punching bag to watch. The man’s form is perfect, not that Jesse would have expected anything less. Hanzo probably had trainers and masters in every martial arts discipline known to man. Jesse had learned how to brawl on playgrounds and small-town alleys. 

“You summoned me?” Jesse asks. Hanzo doesn’t miss a beat in his routine, doesn’t even look over at Jesse lest he be distracted. His breath is short, but barely labored. 

“I did.” The ball of Hanzo’s carbon fiber foot drives into the dummy’s plastic nose. 

“Any particular reason? Not that I mind the show.” 

That makes Hanzo pause. He grins over at Jesse as he rakes his fingers through his hair, pulling out the band holding it. “I need a sparring partner.” 

Jesse blinks. Hanzo probably had a multitude of options to spar with, both omnic and human. There was another reason Hanzo had sent for him, he’s just not fessing up to it. It’s bait Jesse knows he shouldn’t take, but he can’t stop himself any more than a magnet could stop itself from being drawn to its opposite. “Why not call for Genji?” 

Hanzo reaches back to fit the band back around his hair. Jesse’s eyes track his thick arms as they articulate with the movements of his fingers. “We’ve been trained in hand-to-hand combat since we were boys, but Genji is no fighter. He would not pose enough of a challenge.” 

That makes Jesse laugh. “And you think I would?” He knows he’s good in a brawl, but he’s not sure he’s a match for Hanzo in close quarters combat. He wouldn’t mind finding out, of course, but- No, no. Jesse tamps the thought down. Discipline, damnit. 

Hanzo takes a step closer. He smells like clean sweat and incense. Jesse wants nothing more than to lean in, press his mouth to the hollow of the man’s neck and pick up where they left off almost a week ago. This was a bad idea. 

“I should hope so. You wouldn’t be much good as the head of Deadlock’s security if you couldn’t hold your own in a fight. Besides, I’m sure we have some moves we can teach each other.” 

The rise of Hanzo’s eyebrow is about the least subtle thing Jesse’s ever seen. He supposes a man of Hanzo’s stature doesn’t need to cloak his intentions, he’s probably used to getting whatever or whoever he wants, whenever he wants. Jesse muses over it as he makes his way to the edge of the mat. Taking off his hat and boots is a reflex, something he hardly realizes he’s doing until he’s setting them by the edge of the mat. He shucks off the worn flannel and wifebeater he’d been lounging around in, only slightly embarrassed at being seen in such ratty clothes. When he steps fully onto the mat, Hanzo holds out his hand. The other holds two strips of cotton hand wraps. Jesse steps closer, and Hanzo takes his hands. As innocent as the contact is, Jesse’s can feel his heart pounding in his throat. 

“Have you been busy?” Hanzo’s tone is casual, his eyes focused on Jesse’s hands. His palms are warm from exertion, the pads of his fingers rough but gentle as they wrap the cotton around Jesse’s wrist. 

“You know it. When it ain’t Ashe losing her religion over some hitch in the deal, it’s my own people starting up fires left and right over the littlest things. An’ you’re looking at Deadlock’s resident firefighter.” 

Hanzo’s eyes flick up to meet his, and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Jesse huffs. 

“That funny to you? I’m being worked to the bone.” 

“Not funny, persay.” Hanzo drops Jesse’s left hand, and the cowboy holds out his right. The heir’s gaze turns downwards once again. “Just reassuring, I suppose. I was beginning to think you had grown tired of my company.”

Jesse bites the inside of his cheek. He aches to show Hanzo just how much he enjoys his company, right here on the training mat. Instead, he gives an easy laugh. “Whatever gave you that idea?” 

He can see the way Hanzo’s eyes narrow, even though they’re turned down at his hand. “I did not call you here for you to play dumb. I prefer you the way you are.” 

Jesse bites the inside of his cheek. Most people he met through work didn’t see through his “dumb redneck” thing, and if they did they didn’t care about what else there might be to him. He hates how easy it’s becoming to slip into the role. It has its uses, but the last thing he wants is for that to become who he is. 

“Ashe don’t think it’s a good idea that we spend too much time together.”

Hanzo huffs a laugh through his nose. “And you always do what she tells you?” 

“Maybe I don’t think it’s a good idea that we spend too much time together, either.”

Hanzo looks up. Their eyes meet. His hands are wrapped, Hanzo’s fingers have stopped moving over his knuckles. His warm hands are cradling Jesse’s. They’re close enough to kiss, all either of them would have to do is lean in an inch or two. Hanzo’s jaw is set, his voice low. “Are you afraid of me, Jesse McCree? I thought you, what was it, ‘have a thing for danger’?”

“I like the kinda danger that ends with scratch marks on my back an’ a mutual pact never to speak of this again. Ashe thinks you’re the kinda danger that could get us screwed over on this deal with your family.” 

The corner of Hanzo’s mouth pulls up in a smile. “Your partner is right to be worried.” 

Something heavy settles in Jesse’s gut. He should have known it was too good to be true. 

“Not that I seek to do so. But I probably could, if I wanted to.” 

Jesse let out a laugh that sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “You think awful little’a me, sir. What was all that about people underestimatin’ me?” 

Hanzo’s thumbs have begun tracing up and down the ridges of his palms. “Trust me, I know better than to underestimate you. But I have been trained for my entire life to exploit any situation I’m in for maximum gain. I am as adept at it as I am at breathing.” 

Jesse frowns. “How’m I supposed to trust that that ain’t what you’re doing, then? That that isn’t all this’s been?” 

Hanzo’s easy smile drops. The bridge of his nose crinkles the way it had during their shoot-out, the way it had that night when Hanzo had been riding him. He leans in. “Jesse.” His voice is low, serious, and Jesse’s eyes snap up to meet his. “I am not… Entirely sure what it is, myself. But something about you- I am drawn to you. I care for you. I swear, on my honor as a Shimada, that I am not trying to manipulate you. My feelings are genuine.” 

 

If Jesse didn’t know better, he could have sworn that he saw Hanzo’s eyes flinch in the barest wince at his last admission. But Jesse doesn’t mind. The way Hanzo talks, like they’re both characters in some kind of grand tale or something, never fails to make him feel like a swooning maiden. He chuckles, leaning in closer. “Shoot, darlin’, it’s hard to doubt that. You really know how to make a fella feel special, you know that?” 

Hanzo’s serious visage breaks into one of his small, honest smiles. “Good. I am honored by your trust, Jesse.” The heir is looking up at him through his eyelashes, and every inch of his body is begging to be kissed and held. Jesse tilts his head and drops his eyelids, ready to comply with anything Hanzo wants. And then, the man drops completely out of his field of vision. 

Before Jesse can even contemplate it, his feet are swept out from under him. As he tumbles back on his ass, he can see Hanzo crouched down on all fours. One of his legs, the one that swept him, is outstretched. Jesse’s laughing even before he hits the ground. 

“How could you, Han! Takin’ advantage of a man’s feelin’s like that! You’re meaner than a rattlesnake, you know that?” 

Hanzo’s on him in an instant. A quick jab to his face makes Jesse’s vision flash white, and adrenaline surge through his system. Hanzo uses the opportunity to pin both of Jesse’s hands to the mat below them with one of his own. Jesse can feel blood trickle down from his left nostril. The cowboy has half a mind to let Hanzo win, maybe get a repeat performance from a week ago. But Hanzo had called him here to spar, and Jesse wasn’t about to let him down. 

He thrashes about like a trapped animal, trying to buck Hanzo off with his hips. Just like last week, Hanzo’s thighs are locked like a vice around his waist. The fingers around his wrists are so tight that they’ll probably leave bruises. Jesse growls, gnashes his teeth, and eventually lets his body go limp. He huffs, playing like he can’t see a way out and has given up the ghost already. He turns a sultry smile up at Hanzo. 

“Guess it’s clear I’m outta my depth, huh? You’re obviously in a class above me.”

Hanzo’s brow quirks. His eyes go hungry, and the curve of his spine turns from something predatory to something sensuous. The hand not pinning Jesse’s wrists down presses against his chest, raking blunt nails down Jesse’s torso. The cowboy hisses, but still arches up into the sensation. Hanzo laughs through his nose. 

“That was easier than I had thought it would be. Not that I am complaining, mind you. You look so good down here, below me. I think I could get used to it.” 

Jesse bites his lip. Goddamn, it turned him on when Hanzo started talking dirty like that. He’d sold it short that night with Hanzo- he hardly ever got to fall into the more submissive role during sex, and he wasn’t sure he could ever go back after meeting Hanzo. A large part of him wants to give up the ruse he’s trying to pull over, just fall into it and let things play out the way it looked like they were going to. 

Hanzo tweaks one of Jesse’s nipples, making him gasp and flush. As good as it feels, he can’t ignore the rebellion welling in his gut like a warm drink. He’s not gonna let Hanzo win that easily. Jesse bats his eyelashes. “Aw shucks, you really think I look good?”

The corner of Hanzo’s mouth twitches up in a smile, and Jesse can see his core relax. He clearly thinks Jesse’s going along with this. Was this the reason Hanzo had called him down here in the first place? Had he seriously intended on sparring? Damn, why can’t anyone in this family just say what they mean? 

“Yes.” Hanzo says it like it’s an objective fact, and that really is enough to make Jesse blush. “But you’re going to look even better after I make some additions.” 

Hanzo’s head is a moving inkblot in Jesse’s vision as he leans down, closer, close enough for him to lap at the rivulet of blood that’s smeared over his lips. That, coupled with the promise of bruises and and bites and scratches, almost steals the cowboy’s senses from him. He’s just about ready to melt into a Jesse-shaped puddle under Hanzo, until he feels what he’s been waiting for. Hanzo’s fingers were a vice grip on his wrists before, but now that he’s occupied with sucking open-mouthed kisses down Jesse’s neck they’ve loosened slightly. Jesse makes a small, whining noise in the back of his throat to test. Hanzo responds with a low grunt and a kiss to the hickey he’s working on, completely lost in his work. Good. 

Before the lust-drunk heir can react, Jesse brings his knee up as hard as possible in the space between them. Judging by the sound of Hanzo’s breath punching out of him, Jesse assumes he hit home. He breaks Hanzo’s grip on his wrists and kicks him away before the heir can get any bright ideas with his mouth so close to Jesse’s neck. Hanzo lands on his side, but he gets up faster than Jesse would have expected a man who just took a knee to the jewels would. The cowboy scrambles up onto his feet, taking the simple boxing stance his momma taught him when he was a kid. 

Hanzo’s stance is different, probably the result of countless hours training with masters rather than practice in back-alley brawls. He looks no less ready, despite the obvious pain in his eyes. It melds with a wry smile as they slowly circle each other. “You may regret that, Jesse. What if you damaged something important?” 

Jesse rolls his shoulders. From what he knows of Hanzo, he’d be the kind of fighter who’d wait for their opponent to charge in, then strike. But he had struck first, earlier. He has to be careful, but not overthink. His instinct has never steered him wrong before, and he hopes it won’t start now. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it. If anything’s real hurt, I’m sure I can nurse it back to health.” 

Hanzo laughs, and he’s still laughing when one of his feet shoot out, aimed at Jesse’s chin. His fist closes around the prosthetic ankle and he yanks it to the side, throwing Hanzo off balance. The heir staggers to the side, but rights himself before Jesse can make an opportunity of it. 

They continue like that for a while, dancing around each other. Hanzo gets in a few jabs when Jesse lets his guard drop, Jesse knocks the wind out of Hanzo by sneaking up under his guard and striking his solar plexus. Just like in the shooting range, they fall into a rhythm as natural as a choreographed dance. Jesse is as wild as Hanzo is refined, as daring as Hanzo is cautious. They’re perfectly balanced, the same amount of destructive force taking two different forms. It’s the difference between a shotgun blast and a razor-sharp blade. One’s loud and turns body parts to hunks of meat, the other whispers through the air and slips between your ribs before you can take your next breath. Both powerful, both deadly in their own ways.

Hanzo sends a fist out, whip-quick and aimed right for Jesse’s face. The cowboy ducks into a roll, a move that’s saved his life more than once. He comes up behind Hanzo before the heir has a chance to react. Acting on instinct, Jesse grabs a fistful of night-black hair and yanks it to the ground. Hanzo goes crashing down to the mat, and Jesse scrambles to get on top of him.He drives the palm of his heel into Hanzo’s face to daze him, then quickly collects his wrists in one hand. Jesse’s thighs clamp down around Hanzo’s knees and he sits on the other man’s thighs, effectively pinning him down. Though he’s sweaty and panting, Jesse’s smile couldn’t be wider. He’s won, there’s no way for Hanzo to roll out from under him now. 

When he looks down at Hanzo’s face, though, he isn’t met by the satisfied grin of someone who’s just lost a good fight. Hanzo’s eyes are wide in a stunned sort of way, his lips parted in a soft ‘o’. There’s blood trickling from a nostril, but there’s a pink flush dusting the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Jesse winces, and eases his grip on Hanzo’s wrists. 

“Sorry, sugar. Did I go too hard? You can hit me back, if you wanna.” 

Hanzo blinks, batting his eyelashes like he’s coming out of a daze. His dark eyes meet Jesse’s, shifting from wide to smile-narrowed. When he speaks, his voice is way too soft for someone who was just in a fight. 

“I think that is the first time in my life anyone has ever dared to throw me. Let alone dared to strike my face.” 

Jesse winces again. Had he gotten too casual? Had he crossed some line and committed some grave disrespect? “Is that a no-no? I didn’t mean no offense, it’s just that you-” 

Hanzo laughs, high and breathy, and props himself up on one elbow. He reaches out to push Jesse’s damp hair away from his face. “Usually, yes. It is an unspoken rule, one that I was never fond of. But even during my training, my mentors would keep from throwing me. I never understood it, even as a child. If the whole point was to get me used to defending myself, why treat me so delicately?” 

Jesse leans closer, his palms pressing against the mat. This feels intimate, somehow, like they’re sharing pillowtalk after a fuck instead of a fight. He pitches his voice lower, matching Hanzo’s soft tone. “Was it havin’ to do with your legs?” 

Hanzo frowns a little. A wrinkle forms between his brows, and without thinking Jesse shifts his weight onto one arm so he can massage it out with his thumb. That makes Hanzo laugh through his nose, and the wrinkle goes away. “Most likely. But something deeper, as well. Since I was a child, everyone I have ever met has been afraid of me on some level. Afraid of what I might do to them when I grow up, should they somehow slight me. I was never treated the same as others my age, not by my masters, my teachers, the grocery store clerk, parents at the beach, no one. To them, I was always my future position before I was a person.” 

Jesse frowns. At some point his hand had migrated from Hanzo’s face to his neck, his thumb rubbing circles in the man’s collarbone. “Sounds like a lonely way to grow up.” 

Hanzo nods. “Yes, it was.” 

Their eyes meet, and they hold each other’s gaze. An unspoken thing passes between them, so strong that Jesse’s almost overwhelmed by it. Hanzo is placing a lot of trust in him by being so openly vulnerable, and Jesse isn’t sure he deserves it. Then again, he’d placed a lot of trust in Hanzo by telling him about why he pretends to be dumber than he actually is, and that had felt as natural as anything. Maybe Hanzo feels the same way. Why do they trust each other so easily? It doesn’t seem smart, in their line of business, but here they are. 

Hanzo, apparently grown tired of Jesse’s silence, leans up and in. Just before their mouths meet, Jesse turns his head. Hanzo’s lips brush his cheek, and the heir pulls back. His hand comes to the swell of Jesse’s hip, and his voice is too gentle for a future yakuza boss. “Jesse? What’s wrong?” 

Jesse keeps his eyes cast down, not ready to face whatever expression Hanzo is wearing. “I’m just… Not sure we should be doin’ this. I know you swore you wouldn’t use me, but-. Damnit, I only been in this business a few years, but I know that feelings like these are more dangerous than any blade or bullet.” 

Hanzo makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. Rough fingers come to his chin and gently urge his face forward, so he can meet Hanzo’s eyes. Reluctantly, he does. The heir’s face is more open than Jesse’s ever seen it, and it’s like looking up at the moon. Beautiful, yes, but strange and mysterious in a way he can’t quite get his head around.

“Do you really think so little of me? Jesse, you are the first person outside of my family who has made me feel like an actual person, rather than just a kumicho.” Hanzo pauses with a wince of his own, like he hadn’t consciously given his tongue permission to speak the words. But he presses on regardless, as blunt and direct as Jesse’s come to expect. “Do you really think I would jeopardize that for something as, no offense meant, inconsequential as this deal?” 

Jesse can feel himself flushing. When he thinks about it from the perspective of the future head of such a powerful clan, he supposes Deadlock really does seem like small potatoes. To Jesse it’s his whole life, but to the Shimadas they’re just some upstarts from overseas. And if what Hanzo’s saying is true, it makes sense that he would prioritize his own feelings over a small blip on the clan’s map. All at once Jesse feels ashamed for assuming the worst about Hanzo, despite the context they were in. 

“I’m sorry, sugar.” He leans in, nosing at the hinge of Hanzo’s jaw. Hanzo tilts his head to give Jesse more room to work, so he kisses down the alabaster column and towards Hanzo’s collarbone. The same hand that had used the man’s hair as leverage to drag him to the floor now cards through it, timid and apologetic. “When you put it that way, sounds right foolish’a me to doubt you, huh?” 

Hanzo huffs another laugh, which Jesse feels in his throat he’s kissing more than hears. “It was foolish. I cannot believe I had to spell it out for you like that. Aren’t you supposed to be good at reading people?” 

Jesse laughs self-consciously into the hollow of Hanzo’s throat. He presses one last kiss to the warm skin there, then pulls back enough to give the heir his best puppy-dog eyes. “I’m real sorry, pumpkin. Think I can make it up to ya’?” 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. Jesse’s looking up at him through his eyelashes, and between their positions and Hanzo’s regal air, he looks like he could be a hundred feet tall. Jesse feels a noise rise up in his throat when a rough hand pets through his hair, like someone would stroke a cat while thinking over a particularly difficult problem. “I’m not sure, Jesse. Can you?” 

The cowboy needs no more encouragement. He surges forward, and does his best to make it up to Hanzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Principito- Little Prince


End file.
